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THE 



GUARDIAN ANGEL 



%\\)i ot\tx f fftms. 



BT 



CAROLINE M. CONGDON 
3S 



.«»^-^Or^Nft^ 



<P. 



'J»" 



AUBURnT^ "«- ^ 
WILLIAM J. MOSES. 

185C 



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"^^ /3SJ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, 

In the Clerk's Office of the DiBtrict Court of the United States for 'b>> 
Northern District of New York. 



IrHatK 



I scarcely know how I have been prevailed upon 
to submit my unskilled productions to the eye of the 
public. But so it is ; and although I am well aware, 
that my attempts at verse are weak and imperfect, 
I have some hope, that the knowledge of my slight 
age and helpless condition, will not be entirely 
powerless to shield me from criticism. 

Begging the Critic, therefore, to spare my little 
book, and the tender-hearted Reader to drop a tear 
of sympathy for its afflicted Authoress, I close, by 
acknowledging my indebtedness to friends for pre- 
paring my manuscript for the Press : I could not do 
it myself, as I was obliged to write with a pencil. 

C. M. C. 



(idd) of the 3luiI)0U5S» 



Caroline M. Congdon, the writer of the following pages, 
is the youngest daughter of a poor widowed mother, who re- 
sides in Amber, in Otisco, Onondaga County, N. Y. 

Being left fatherless while quite young, the care of her 
childhood devolved exclusively upon that maternal hand, 
which has labored, with no little success, to form the charac- 
ters of her five children for stations of respectability and use- 
fulness. The necessities of the passing day required the fami- 
ly to live frugally ; and the children were taught, both by pre- 
cept and example, to regard industry as a bright and shining 
virtue. 

Caroline's health, however, had been delicate from infancy ; 
and her educational advantages, beyond those enjoyed at her 
mother's fireside, were such as are furnished by a country dis- 
trict school. There she made good proficiency ; and was hope- 
full}' looking forward to the time when she might drink at 
some deeper fount of learning beneath the Academic shades. 



vi Sketch of the Authoress, 

But, alas ! how uncertain are all our hopes ! In her four- 
teenth year, when her young heart beat highest, and her fu- 
ture looked most fair. Disease laid its heavy hand upon her, 
and she sunk beneath its weight ! Such is the nature of her 
affliction, that it renders her entirely helpless, — except the use 
of her hands, — and confines her constantly upon her back. 
In this sad condition she has lain, day and night, for many 
weary months, without even a pillow beneath her head ; and, 
owing to the unnatural heat of her system, unable to bear any 
covering but a sheet, and to have little or no fire in her room 
in coldest weather. 

Thus deprived of health, and shut in from sweet communion 
with the things in Nature, she has given voice to the silent 
musings of her mind, in sweet poetic numbers. 

She writes with a pencil, on a little frame which stands 
across her breast ; and so arranged with small wires passing 
horizontally across the under side, and fastened at each end, 
as to hold her paper, slipped in between the wires and the 
board, at an angle of about thirty degrees over her face : — 
thus making her writing-desk lean over her, instead of her 
over it. 

Loaded with such disadvantages, kind Reader, she has com- 
posed the volume we now introduce to you; which, in our 
opinion, not only displays the marks of a pure and lofty 
genius, but also furnishes one of the rarest examples of youth- 
ful industry and perseverance under difficulties, found on the 
records of Time. 

t Still calm, peaceful and serene, as a Summer morning, she 
lies without a murmur — without a word of complaint ! And 



Sketch of the Authoress. vii 

when first I visited her lowly couch, and saw her eye shining 
with such unearthly brightness, and listened to the rich and 
heavenly melody of her sweet voice, my soul became filled 
with the deepest emotions, and my sorrowing heart breathed 
the silent lamentation and prayer — 

Oh, God ! why is she sought, 
The brightest and the best. 
The fairest one of youth, 
To drink the bitter cup 

Of sorrow, ere she dies ! 

• 

Spare — spare thy chast'ning hand ! 
Unbend the '• Archer's" bow ! 
Relieve her aching heart, 
And cool her fever'd brow ! 
Remove that crimson'd flush ! 
Impart renewed strength, 
And raise this daughter up 
To bless her race — O, God I — 
If such may be thy will L. 

T. K. F. 



€a\\itnts. 



Sketch of the Authoress, , . Page 5 

Dedication, 9 

The Guardian Angel, . . . , 15 

Meame, ...••.. 37 

Memory, 69 

To , IS 

Let me Weep, . • . • . Id 

AVe Parted, .81 

The Complaint, 83 

Resignation, 86 

II}Tnn, . 88 

A Paraphrase, . • • • • 90 

" *' 93 

Sonnet, ....... 95 

The Dying Girl, 96 

Herrmann, 102 

Florence, 129 

I am all Alone, 150 

Hope, 152 



viii Contents. 

The Star, ... . . 155 

The Broken Heart's Request, , , 158 

Dream, 160 

Autumn, 161 

ToE. B., 162 

To N., . . . • . . 165 

There are No Flowers Now, • • 167 

Catalepsy, 170 

Returning Consciousness, . . . 171 

To Mrs. B., 172 

Where shall be my last Resting-Place, . 174 
On the Death of a Friend, . . .176 
To a Pressed Violet, , , ,178 

To a Gold Pencil, .... 179 

The Poet's Heart, . . . . 180 
O, Should I Die in Winter, , . .181 

Night, 184 

Life, 185 

My Dream of Death, . . , .187 

Angels, 247 

My Country, Oh, my Country, . , 249 



gtl)iati0n. 



TO JVIY BROTHER GEORGE. 



Brother, it lias been long since last we met ; 
And longer still, since first my languid form 
Laid all its strength aside. 

The maple then 
Had just begun to bud ; the woods were dark, 
And showed but little green. I did not think 
That it would be so long, before I rose again 
With strength renewed ; but as the days passed by, 



10 Dedication. 

And gave no sign of coming health, I sighed 
One bitter sigh ; I felt one pang of heart, 
And thought it hard that I might not go forth 
To pluck the flowers of Spring. Then, with a smile 
I left sad thoughts, and met the shafts of pain, 
Submissive to mj fate. 

Hope cheered me still : — 
I thought that Summer's beauty, more mature, 
Would brighten soon the earth. I thought that 

then 
My heart would beat with newer Ufe, and I 
Should walk with Ught and vig'rous step again, 
In all the paths I loved. But days passed on : 
The fragrant orchard-blossoms drooped and fell, 
And I grew weaker — ahnost unto death, 
As Summer came. 

The healer' s power 
Seemed idlo ; and they thought to give me up 
To join the pale-browed dead: yet 'twas not so: 
Disease, awhile, seemed with some pity moved, 
And with a lighter hand, though heavy still. 
Oppressed. 



Dedication. 11 

I had a ling'ring wish, sometimes, 
To see the waving woods : I missed the sight 
Of all the greenness of our rugged hills, 
And the pure beauty of the bright-waved lake, 
Which nestled in their arms. It might not be ; 
For when they raised me, all my willful blood 
"Would straight refuse to keep its wonted course, 
And seek, with sudden flow, my throbbing heart, 
Which vauily struggled to repress the tide ; 
And in the quarrel, all my strength would die. 
And leave me silent as the tongue of Death — 
And cold, and white ; although my wakeful mind 
Kept watch of all that passed. 

But when you came, 
My brother, from the land where sunset burns 
With clearer light, I cared not for the smile 
Which waning Summer cast upon the earth : 
It was enough to have the one so loved 
Bending above my couch : to hear the voice, 
That dear remember'd voice, soothing my soul 
With gentle words. 

You staid not Ion 2: with me : 



12 Dedication. 

The choking sigh, and the fond farewell word, 
Burst sadly from our lips. You left me, then, 
With the sad thought that we no more might meet. 
To me, although a greater share of hope 
Brightened that hour, it was a mournful scene, 
And full of bitterness ; but it passed by, 
Leaving not long its gloom to stain my heart. 
Mild Autumn, with his crimson banner, came, 
Rich with the gold of conquered Summer's woody 
Laden with tempting spoil of fruit and nuts 
From bright-robed trees. 

And, led by him, there came. 
A troop of dark-browed storms and chilhng rains, 
Moved by the voice of solemn sounding winds. 
Which made their midnight music on the earth ; 
And I grew weary of the voice of stonns, 
And sunk to rest. 

Strange sleep * my eyelids closed : 
They would not open at the call of Day, 
When from his prison-cell she drew the Sun, 
And bade him walk the earth ; nor when the Night 

* Eeferring to an attack of Catalepsy. 



Dedicatioit. 13 

Grew black upon the hills, and storms arose 
In might. Five days I wore the chain of sleep 
Upon my soul ; and then my spirit rose, • 
And, all indignant, cast the yoke aside — 
Scorning to yield itself to such mean hand. 
And -they, who stood around my bed, and saw 
The signs of life returning once again, 
Felt the deep thrill of joy, which those have felt 
In ages gone, who mourned the shrouded dead, 
And saw them rise and speak. I bowed my soul 
In thankful and repentant prayer. I felt 
The Spirit-dove of Peace folding its wings 
Around my teait. I had not murmured much ; 
But more, still more submissive now, 
I kissed the rod. 

It has been long since then, 
My brother, and not yet I rise. My hand 
Is feeble still. My forehead burns with heat 
Unnatural. The crimson on my cheek. 
Tells not of health. Disease enchains me still, 
And gives me time for thoughts of many things 
Gone by ; and old remembrances come fast 



14 Dedication. 

Upon my mind, making a genial light 
In the dim halls of memory ; and oft 
I call the recollections of the time, 
"When you were here, up from their hidden cells- 
Most fondly pondering each remember'd word, 
Each tender look, which made you doubly dear ; 
For distance makes the bond between us two 
Seem far more firm, by giving one deep touch 
Of grief to stamp jDcrfection on our love. 
Therefore to you I dedicate the fines 
My hand has feebly traced ; and well I know 
That you wiU love the tribute that I give, 
Because the impress of a sister's heart, 
Glows warm upon each word. 



f k (Suartiait gingcl 



Pakt Fiest. 



Two forms were floating on the morning skies, 
So bright, they ne'er might meet a mortal's eyes. 
Angels were they, each wrapt within a cloud, 
From earth's cold airs, their heavenly frames to 

shroud. 
A youthful cherub one, whose gentle face, 
Though fair, bore no maturer beauty's trace ; 
And those bright, dove-like wings, that graced his 

form. 



16 The Guardian Angel. 

Seemed far too slight, to brave the whirling storm. 
A wreath of jewels twined his flowing hair, 
And flashed in beauty, round his forehead fair. 
His robe that floated round in careless flow, 
Was whiter than the newest fallen snow ; 
And, in his gentle grasp, a harp was prest, 
Whose strings were thrilled with music, though at 
rest. 

The other was of statelier mien and eye, 
And there was something in his aspect high. 
That told that he had seen, perchance, below 
Had seen, though he had never sufiered, woe. 
His forehead by a glitt'ring crown was prest. 
And golden stars were gleaming on his breast. 
His glowing, sunset wings were large and free, 
And far around him, threw a golden sea, — 
A sea of purest light, whose gushing flow 
Tinted the morning's purple clouds below. 
And as they floated thus, all brightly still. 
Gazing upon each vale, and lake, and hill. 
In accents soft, the stately angel spake 
With voice that bade the sweetest echoes wake : 



The Guardian Angel. 17 

" Oh, fallen, fallen Earth !" he murmured low, 
*' Thy sweetest bowers are stamed with sin and woe. 
Thou hast no smiling spot, however fair, . 
But it hath known the footprints of Despair." 

Then answered back the other spirit bright. 
As earth, beneath him, smiled in morning light : 
" Methinks this world is all too fair, too gay, 
To bend beneath or sin or sorrow's sway ; 
But yet, I know that thou hast seen much more 
On this same earth, than I. Thou 'st tracked each 

shore. 
And wandered through each cold, and burning 

clime. 
And seen its haggard misery and crime, 
And its mean pleasures. Tell me, then, of earth. 
Where thou say'st naught but monster Crime hath 

birth." 
" Nay," quoth the other sprite, " I said not so ; 
The world hath pleasures, too, as well as woe. 
But they must have their mixture. There 's no joy 
Of earthly nature, that hath not alloy. 



18 TUE GUAKDIAN AxGEL. 

I see tliat tliou canst scarce believe the tale 
Of sill on earth. Thou seest its flow'ry vale 
In all its summer richness, bright and gay, 
Beneath the rosy smile of op'ning day. 
It is a lovely sight ; and made to bless ; 
And (sin destroyed) all might be happiness. 
But thou hast asked yet more of earth to know, 
And I will tell a mournful tale, to show 
How all its brightest hopes must faded He, 
And no true joy exist, but from On High. 

" Seest thou yon cottage 'neath the purple hill, 
By that blue lake, v/hich lies so brightly still ; 
And where those trees are waving, dark and high. 
Their leafy branches, to the azure sky. 
Beneath that cottage roof, once dwelt a pair 
Of wedded hearts ; one prattling mfant, fair. 
Was their sole oifspring ; and to guard that child, 
To watch it when it wept, or when it smiled, 
Was task of mine. I stood beside her bed. 
Wafting bright visions round her dreaming head, 
I watched her, when she smiled in childish play, 
And y/hen she wept, I charmed her tears away. 



The Guardian Angel. 19 

I whispered in her ear full many a thought, 
With much of high, and holy meaning fraught. 
I stood beside her, all unseen 'neath bowers 
Where she was reveling 'mid birds and flowers ; 
And often, when her cahn and earnest eye, 
Was gazing on the burning western sky. 
Where the last tints of the departing day, 
Were fading in the golden light away, 
I whispered thoughts of heaven, and joy, and peace, 
That, in her bosom, bade each passion cease. 

" Thus her calm years rolled peacefully away ; 
Her young heart lit by Hope's enliv'ning ray ; 
Till now, a maiden grown, so brightly fair, 
She almost seemed a spirit of the air, 
With richly waving tress, and beaming eye, 
Which seemed to mirror back the azure sky. 
With voice as sweet, as nightingale or thrush. 
And cheek which vied with morning's rosy blush. 

Nor did the gentle maiden * blush unseen,' 
For there were those who marked her graceful 
mien. 



20 The Guakdian Angel. 

Her fewn-like step, her modest, timid gaze ; 

And oft, to her, were tmied love's tender lays ; 

And oft the serenade upon the lake. 

Bade echo o'er the moonlit surface wake ; 

And then, her guileless heart grew sadly changed ; 

From my fond teachings, soon she grew estranged ; 

And soon, her mild and azure-tinted eye. 

That seemed but made to gaze upon the sky, 

Was bent to earth ; and oft the idle day. 

In planning conquest new, was passed away. 

But yet, ere long, e'en she had learned to love, 

Kot as the bright, pure angels do above. 

But with the wild, and fearful love of earth, 

That, all unquestioning its object's worth. 

Pours forth its tide of tenderness so deep, 

It lulls each weaker passion's voice to sleep. 

Such is earth's love : in coldest hearts it lives. 

Consuming more of pleasure, than it gives ; 

As thou hast sometimes seen, perchance, on earth, 

A frozen mount to liquid fire give birth. 

Thus earthlings love. No other passion's sway. 

Can turn love's fearful, lava tide away. 



The Guardian Angel. 21 

" And thus young Ava loved. Her yielding soul 

Was vanquished by a single thought's control ; 

And he, she loved, was fair ; but oh, within, 

His heart was full of foulest, darkest sin ! 

But yet, she loved him ; and her heart was blind, 

For love can oft the proudest spmt bind. 

And she could deem him true : she knew not how 

Deceit could mar his pure, and lofty brow ; 

Nor dwell within the brightness of his eye. 

Or be companion of his bearing high. 

" And thus, her love grew stronger, day by day. 
Till it had borne all otlier thoughts away ; 
And oft they walked together 'mid green bowers. 
Holding sweet converse in those joyous hours ; 
Now wand'ring by the sparkling streamlet's edge. 
Or culling wild flowers from the tangled hedge ; 
Oft ling'ring till the moon, all cold and pale, 
Spread o'er the sleeping earth her solemn vail ; 
And the fair evening star, so calmly bright, 
Lit up the way, for the approaching night. 
So joyously her moments sped away. 



22 The Guaedia>7 Angel, 

That scarce she marked each bright, retreating day 
Sare, sometimes, when I whispered low, ' Beware ! 
Seest thou no guilt heneath the surface fair? 
Seest thou no thorns hid deep amid the bloom? 
Beyond the gladsome hght, no cloud of gloom?' 
But, oft as thus I spoke, she spumed the thought, 
(To her, with such ungen'rous meamng fraught,) 
That dared A^-ith warning, though so faint and dim, 
To cast suspicion's faintest breath on him. 
But yet, one eve, as nature sunk to rest. 
And twihght blushmg, Unger'd in the west, 
She sat beneath the poplar's shiv'ring bough, 
And troubled thought pass'd o'er her mournful brow. 
I saw one pearly tear-drop downward flow, 
^Vhile thus she spake in murmurs sad and low ; 

" ' Why do I brood o'er mournful thoughts to- 
night? 
Why dimly gleams the sunset's golden light ? 
Why do such strangely rising shadows wake, 
Upon the surface of the quiet lake ? 
Surely, these trees cast forth a mournful gloom, 



The Guaedian Angel. 23 

As thoiigh they hid some deep, impending doom. 
And a cold shiv'ring creeps through ev'ry bough, 
Tiiough I can feel no breezes plajTng now. 
There is a storm-cloud, resting dark and still, 
Upon the brow of yonder gloomy hill. 
There is a shade in ev'ry gleam of light ; 
And a strani^e mom-nfulness ia all thin-ors bri^jht. 
But hence, ye foolish thoughts, O haste away ! 
In my unsaddened heart, ye may not stay. 
Is not my Present flill of joyous hours ? 
Docs not my Future glow with richest flow'rs ? 
Hath he not, whom I love, knelt at my feet ? 
Doth he not, oft, his fervent vows repeat ?' 
And then the maiden's faltering voice grew weak. 
And love's bright hues grew deeper on her cheek ; 
The tears that sparkled in her eyes grew bright, 
Reflecting back the bm^ning sunset's light, 
That smiled upon her now, with richer glow, 
Chasing the shadows from the lake below ; 
And then, her heart grew Hghter than before ; 
And sad thoughts dared to cloud her brow no 
more. 



2t The Guardiak Angel. 

" The sunset's light was fading fast away, 
Scarce leaving foot-print of the summer's day ; 
The tall trees cast their shadows broad and far, 
Beneath the light of evenmg's holy star. 
The crescent moon yet stole a rosy flush, 
From the pale twiHght's last decaying blush, 

" I saw young Ava standing 'neath the bow'r, 

Where oft she stood, in moonlight's holy hour. 

Her lover, too, was standing at her side : 

Their fornis were pictured on the lake's still tide. 

I heard him whispering words of tender love, 

Pure as the moonhght on the sky above. 

And the warm words came forth with gentle flow. 

As smoothly as the rippling lake below. 

But soon his cheek grew flushed with passion's 

flame ; 
He dared to whisper thoughts of darkest name. 
I saw him, kneeling at the maiden's feet. 
Again, his vows of guilty love repeat. 

" I gathered round the maid my shelt'ring T^dngs, 
A moan was ringing from my harp's bright strings. 



The Guardian Angel. 25 

And in a warning voice I cried, 'Beware! 
Hurl not thy tempted spirit to despair !' 
She heard me not. I saw her slender form 
Weak as the reed, beneath the fearful storm. 
On cheek or lip, there was no hue of hfe ; 

' Her frenzied eye showed forth the soul's dark strife ; 
And from the lips, that looked so ghastly pale, 
Her voice broke forth, sad as a lost one's wail. 
' Oh Harold ! it is hard, indeed, to know, 

; That from thy lips, such fearful words can flow. 
Oh, I had ever deemed thee true, till now, 

' Nor knew that sin could mar so fan- a brow ! 

I But yet, without thy love, life were a curse ; 
And thought of sin or death, can scarce be worse. 
But Oh! my fancy brought such golden dreams 
Of future joy, and hope's resplendent beams — 
Kow, naught but future misery I see, 
Yet, I give all, e'en hope of Heaven, for thee !' 

" I heard those words of desperate despair, 
I And stretched my wings upon the spreading air. 
Till far beliind me rolled the earth's daj'k ball, 



26 The Guardian Angel. 

Still silent-bound by midnight's dusky thrall ; 
Nor ceased I in that rapid upward flight, 
Till Heaven above me rolled in dazzling light. 



Part Second 



"Much time upon the rolling earth had passed, 
Since I had seen its hills and valleys, last. 
Again I sought its dun and cloudy shore, 
Again to roam its rugged surface o'er. 



The Guaedian Angel. 27 

And, not unmindful of that mortal's lot, 

Who, though she spurned my voice, and heeded 

not, 
Was stm my charge on earth — ^to her I came 
For like employ, though she was not the same 
As when in girlhood's innocence she smiled, 
A joyous-hearted, and a happy child. 
But now, there was strange luster in her eye, 
That long had ceased to gaze upon the sky ; 
And on her hollow cheek, there came and went 
A crimson flush, from thoughts of anguish sent. 
Upon her mournful brow were lines of care, 
That stern Remorse had deeply written there. 
And they, who gazed on her, might truly say, 
That Reason's light had almost passed away. 
And oft I saw her on the steep cliff's side. 
Which overlooked the dark lake's angry tide ; 
While midnight winds were howling cold and bleak, 
The chill ram dashing on her hollow cheek — 
x\nd wildly rung her song of stem despair, 
That echoed strangely from the dark rocks there. 
Oh, thou hast never seen the human soul, 



28 TuE GuAKDiAN Angel. 

Lashed into frenzy, by Despair's control ! 
Thou ne'er hast seen the darkly-flashmg eye, 
Where untold depths of fearful anguish lie. 
Thou ne'er hast seen the white Ups wreathe a smile, 
When at the heart deep sorrow gnawed the while. 
Yet, on this smiling earth, such bemgs dwell — 
Theii' spirits bound by frenzy's fearful spell. 
Such was deserted Ava. On her brow, 
There was no trace of gentler feehng now ; 
No hope, no fear, no wish was written there, 
Naught, but the agony of black Despair. 

*'But where was he, who, fi-om fair virtue's way. 
Had lured her, who, before was bright and gay ? 
Did not Remorse all darkly follow him. 
Making his life a dream of shadows dim ? 
Or was his life so foul, so dark with sin. 
Remorse shrank back, nor dared to enter in ? 

" Ah no ! for never in the human breast, 
Where sm hath entered, and hath dared to rest, 
Doth stern Remorse with all her gloomy train 



The Guaedian Angel. 29 

Forbear to enter ; and with mem'ries vain 
Bring back eacli fearful deed of former years, 
Unheeding quite the guilty wretch's tears ; 
Still lashing up the worn and shrinking soul, 
Where deep the fearful mem'ries hidden roll ; 
And still pursues through every festal scene, 
Stamping its blasting seal upon his mien, 
And its fierce lash, with every joy at strife, 
Poisons each pleasure of its victim's hfe, 

" Nor did the guilty-hearted Harold know 
Exemption from earth's most unsparing woe : 
Though far he sailed upon the dark blue wave, 
Thinking to find for keen Remorse a grave ; 
Or in some foreign land, or southern bowers, 
Inhaling fragrance from a thousand flowers ; 
Or wand'ring by its brightly flashing streams, 
Striving to quite forget his past life's dreams ; 
Or list'ning to some well-remembered strain. 
Whose music woke to please, but gave him pain, 
Or quaffing deeply of the goblet's wave. 
Which, for a while, its sweet oblivion gave. 



30 The Guakdian Angel. 

Still, still, full oft from his unquiet heart, 

The olden memories would strangely start ; 

And oft, when sleep its welcome rest had brought, 

Giving sUght respite from his troubled thought, 

In his wild dreams, upon his 'wildered eyes, 

A misty form, with smilhig air, would rise ; 

And he could see a well known image there, 

A graceful form, and brow serenely fair. 

That head was crowned^ with wreaths of richest 

flowers. 
Plucked by his hand from green and fragrant 

bowers. 
Upon that face, there sat a gentle smile, 
And pleasure sparkled from those eyes, the while I 
And, from those parted lips, a murmur came, 
A voice of melody, that spoke his name. 

"But now, a change comes o'er that gentle form. 
The peaceful brow grows dark with passion's storm, 
That form is pale, transfixed Hke marble there. 
Those dark blue eyes send forth a frenzied glare ; 
Now, from those ghastly lips a murmur breaks. 



The Guardian Angel. 31 

And words of dark revenge the echo wakes ; 

Till slow the dismal vision melts away, 

And Night's dim thoughts dissolve before the day. 

" Thus time passed on, till from that foreign strand, 
He turns away to seek his native land : 
And there was one, beside him, brightly fair. 
Whom he had won in her young beauty there ; 
"With girl-like form, and deep and lustrous eyes, 
One, who had dwelt beneath blue southern skies, 
And who had left her flowery home for him, 
To dweU mid paler flowers, and skies more dim ; 
And sail with him upon the foaming tide. 
To his own land, his fail', afl&anced bride. 



Pakt Thikd 



" The moon's white vail was floating broad and far, 

And, from the sky, shone forth each twinkling star ; 

And now fair Dian's glory pale and cold, 

Fell on a mansion, stately, dim, and old ; 

And from its windows lights all redly gleamed, 

Mocking the moon's pale rays, which downward 

streamed ; 
And merry voices rung upon the air, 
Showing that joy and revelry were there. 

Within that mansion drooped bright wreaths of 

flowers, 
That oft had bent beneath the summer showers ; 



The Guardian Angel. 33 

Earth's gayest, brightest forms were moving there, 

Yomig gentle ones, than those rich flowers more fair. 

It was a bridal feast, and proudly now, 

The bridegroom stands with calm, unmoving brow ; 

And by his side — the guilty Harold's side — 

That fair one stands, so soon to be his bride. 

A step is heard : a stealthy step, and slow, 

Disturbs the music's notes, so rich and low ; 

A form intrudes upon the festal scene, 

A woman's form, of pale and haggard mien ; 

Around that pallid brow, which once was fair, 

All unconfined, flows down the tangled hair ; 

And from those marble lips, the wild tones flow,' 

As thus she speaks with voice of bitter woe ; 

' Thou guilty one ! why art thou here to-night, 

Amid these wi'eaths of flowers, and gleams of light 

With her, whom thou hast won beyond the sea — 

Thy lovely bride ? Hadst thou forgotten me ? 

Didst thou not deem that I could find thee here ? 

Well mayst thou stand and quake with idle fear ! 

Didst thou not know that I should be thy bride, 

In place of her who trembles at thy side ? 
3 



34 The Guardian Angel. 

False Harold ! why is not thine Ava's brow 
As smooth as hers who loves thee fondly now ? 
Why is not my worn cheek as pure and bright ? 
Why beams not my sunk eye as pure a light ? 
I once was fair as she ; but long ago 
My form was dimmed with clouds of sin and woe ; 
And thou, false-hearted wretch, wilt thou tell why 
The roses fled my cheek, the light mine eye ? 

" ' O happy one ! three brides are waitmg now, 

To press the lip upon thy cow'ring brow ; 

What ! dost thou shrink to hear again my voice ? 

Or dost thou hesitate to fix thy choice ? 

Each Fair that waits for thee, hath untold charms ; 

Each waits to clasp thee in imshrinking arms : 

I am the one — the other 's at thy side, 

But Death, the last, the fairest, is thy bride !» 

She ceased ; and ere one half-bewildered guest, 

The gleaming dagger from her hand could wrest, 

She raised it high, and with a fearful shriek, 

That drove the blood from each fair maiden's cheek, 

She plunged it in the guilty Harold's heart, 



The Guardian Angel. 35 

And laughed to see the crimson life-wave start ; 

And then, before the shrinking guests could deem 

That aught they saw was but a fearful dream, 

She vanished lightly as the rushing air, 

And left her guilty lover dying there ; 

And where rich music's notes were heard to swell, 

Was echoed back Death's stern, unwelcome knell. 

" So melt the fleeting joys that earth can give, 

Such are the pleasures for which mortals live ; 

But dost thou ask, if I no warning gave, 

And spoke no word, from such dark crime to save ? 

Ah yes ! but could an Angel's accents tame 

The maddened soul, that burns with Frenzy's flame ? 

No ! angel words could ne'er win back that soul, 

That long had bowed 'neath frenzy's fierce control ; 

But when that deed was done — ah ! then the light 

Of banished reason smote her spirit's sight ; 

And as she gently faded, day by day. 

And sloAvly passed from this dark earth away, 

She wept in sorrow for her wasted life. 

And calmed, with tearful prayer, her spirit's stiife. 



36 The Guardian Angel. 

Kind Heaven heard her meek, repentant j^rayer, 
And waits, e'en now, to give her entrance there," 

Thus spake the angel, as the closing day- 
Was passing o'er the western hills away ; 
And through that humble cottage door they went, 
While with their tuneful harps earth's music blent, 
And from the wasted prison-house of clay. 
They bore a soul, a deathless soul, away ; 
And as the Sunset's dying rays from far, 
Beheld the bright approach of Evening's star, 
Three shining forms were on their way to Heaven, 
For erring Ava was, at last, forgiven. 



pontL 



Part First, 



Night on the wild — and lone, and deep !— 
The wind hath rocked the wave to sleep ; 
The wolf's stern howl is heard no more ; 
The dark canoe rests on the shore ; 
The stars gaze on the lonely scene, 
Gleaming the forest boughs between ; 
Through the long aisles, all cold and white, 
Gutters the pale moon's holy light j 



38 Meame. 

And soft, and still, the light is shed, 

And silence reigns as of the dead. 

Yet list ! upon the glassy lake. 

Doth some light oar the stillness break ? 

Ah, swiftly there a small bark glides. 

Flinging the white spray from its sides ! 

Who comes through pale moonhght and shade ? 

»Tis Meame, the Indian maid. 

The lone canoe hath reached the strand. 
The dark maid springs upon the land ; 
" And am I here alone ?" she cried, 
" The pale-face seeks me for his bride ; 
Will he not come to meet me now ?" 
She flung the dark hair from her brow, 
And through the forest's trackless maze, 
Bent her bemldered, anxious gaze. 
All still and statue-like she stood. 
Bright as some spirit of the wood ; 
And well her graceful form seemed made, 
To rule the dark wood's leafy shade : 
Such mien suits well the huntress wild. 



Meame. 39 

Dark Wampaniog's fearless child. 
And well that dark-eyed maiden knew, 
To track the forest's mazes through ; 
And well her arrow knew to bring 
The wild-bird from its wanton ^ing ; 
But now she loves ; and day by day, 
As wastes her form with grief away, 
The maid, aU purposeless, doth roam 
Far from her lonely wigwam home. 
Oft duns with tears her weary eye ; 
Her arrow oft forgets to fly ; 
For well doth sad Meame know. 
Her father is the white man's foe. 

But now she starts — she hears a sound 
Of dead leaves rustling on the ground ; 
Her dark cheeks flush, her heart beats high. 
She turns — a proud form meets her eye ; 
It is her Ormond, her young brave, 
AATiom she hath sought for o'er the wave : 
The summer sun hath browned his cheek. 
That glows with thoughts too high to speak ; 



40 Me 



A ME 



But yet, his bright and curling hair 
Waves o'er a brow, as woman's fair ; 
And the quick glancing of his eye 
Seems hghtning from a cloudless sky. 
But, ah ! why is young Ormond here, 
In the lone forest, dim and drear ? 
Plath he no friends, no sunny home, 
Far o'er the blue wave's angry foam ? 
Ah, yes ! his sad heart wanders back. 
Oft, o'er the sea-wave's lonely track ; 
But in his happy home, he heard 
Of sunny cHmes, where soft winds stirred ; 
Where dark and high, the forest trees 
Swayed proudly in the gentle breeze ; 
And his young heart, so warm and brave, 
Sought wild adventure o'er the wave. 
And then he left his sunny home. 
In that bright, unknown land to roam ; 
He left his sad-eyed mother there, 
His father, with his silver hair ; 
His sistGr, of the gentle eye, 
With its calm azure like the sky ; 



Meame. 41 

And each loved haunt his childhood knew, 
The lake, the wood, the sky of blue, 
The stream, the olden beech-tree's shade, 
Where oft m infant glee he 'd played. 
And dearer far that vine-hung cot ; 
Oh ! oft in after years, that spot — 
The spot so gladly left behind, 
In mem'ry*s holy light enshrined — 
Seemed present to his thoughtful hour, 
Bowing his heart with mournful power. 

Ah, yes ! from these he turned away — 
His life untried, a summer's day — 
Left all of these for that bright land. 
To shape liis course with his own hand ; 
And oft as through the forest glade, 
With thoughtful heart, and brow, he strayed, 
He met, and learned to love erewhile 
The Indian maiden's glance and smile. 

That maiden's gentle, bird-hke tone. 
Made his sad heart feel less alone j 



42 Meame. 

And oft he'd wander by lier side, 
Beneath the shades of eventide ; 
And as the maiden rapturous hung 
Upon each murmur of his tongue, 
He poured in her fond ear, a tale 
Of love, of hope, which could not fail 
To move stern Nature's simple child. 
The meek-souled daughter of the wild. 
Ah yes, they loved, and loved full well ; 
Their warm hearts glow'd beneath the spell ; 
And deep, and high, that love's first joy 
Swelled their young hearts without alloy. 
"What though she were of different race, 
Of other tongue, of dusky face, — 
What though her father was his foe ! 
He loved her voice, so soft and low ; 
He loved her dark eye's gentle glance ; 
He loved her light foot's boundmg dance ; 
Her tall, slight form, her dark cheek's flush, 
More rich than fliirer maiden's blush ; 
Nor only these, but all combined 
With the meek beauty of her mind. 



Meame. 43 

And there, by that bright lake, they stood, 

Bathed in the moonlight's silver flood ; 

He, whispering words of love, that hour, 

To her, the "«ild-wood's faii-est flower. 

He spoke of bright home far away, 

Of vernal skies, and song-birds gay, 

Of flower-wreathed cot, where they might dwell, 

With none to break Love's joyous spell : 

And when the last low echo died, 

The sad Meame thus replied : 

" Brave Orniond, how can I thus go ? 
E'en though my father is thy foe, 
I may not leave him thus alone ; 
"Would he not miss his daughter's tone ? 
Would not his aged eyes grow dun ? 
Ormond, I vfould leave all but him ! 
There was a time Wampaniog's brow 
Was not so dark, so stern as now : 
He called me, then, his own loved child, 
The fairest flow'ret of the wild ; 
And now, perchance, he yet may learn. 
To be less proud, less harsh and stern." 



44 Meame. 

Tliey parted — but ere his bright head, 
Through the dark forest paths had sped, 
She turned her to his parting track. 
And with sad voice she called him back. 
She spoke, and then her gentle tone 
Breathed sadly as the Night wind's moan : 
" Last night, before the moon had set, 
My father's braves in council met ; 
The council-fire burned bright and high, 
Yet fiercer far each warrior's eye ; 
And then with soleimi voice and slow, 
They sung the death-song of the foe ; 
And then they swore the white man's blood, 
Should mingle in one dark, red flood. 
Brave Ormond, when the Night-fires dance 
Beneath the pale moon's gentle glance. 
Watch for the sound of war and strife, — 
My father seeks the white man's life." 

The swift canoe is gliding now. 

From 'neath the oak's o'erhanging bough ; 

And on the shores of that bright lake, 



Meame. 45 

^■0 soft low tones the echoes wake : 

t is Meame's mournful song, 

^aint on the night breeze borne along. 



Song 



There came a brave hunter 

From over the sea ; 
Well loves he Meame, 

He loves only me. 

Oh, brave is my "hunter. 
His low voice is sweet ! 

Oft I wait for his footsteps, 
My coming to greet. 

Oh, young is the pale-face, 
And hardy, and brave ! 

And he talks of bright flowers 
Far over the wave. 



46 Meame. 

But woe to Meame ! 

She looks o'er the wave ; 
But her dark chieftain father — 

He hates the young brave. 



Pakt Second. 



Morn, rosy morn awakes in light, 
Upon a scene as Eden bright ; 
The golden sun with peaceful ray, 
Gleams on the Autumn woodlands gay ; 
The light wind stirs the yellow trees ; 
The crimson maple courts the breeze ; 
From the rich hues that 'round it shme, 
Stately and tall, looms up the pme ; 



Meame. 

"V^^lile here and there, with sober frown, 
Rises some lofty tree of broTsu : 
The bright lake seems a sea of pearls, 
As to the freshening breeze it curls ; 
The wild bird hath begun its lay, 
To usher in the rismg day. 

But where is sad Meame now ? 
Roams she beneath the forest bough ? 
Or doth she bend the fearless bow, 
To lay the bright winged song-bird low ? 
Plucks she the flow'rets by the rill, 
Which Autumn frosts have failed to kill ? 

• Ah no ! in vain the pale flowers rise 

* To press her hand, or fix her eyes ; 

^ The bird, on careless wing flies low, 
"Not needs to fear Meame's bow. 

Her heart is sad, and wrung, and sore ; 
She kneels her by her wigwam door. 
Before her cliieftain father's form, 
And strives to quell his inward storm ; 



48 Meame. 

But proudly strides that chieftain tliere — 
The bright plumes in his long black hair — 
The war-pamt on his dusky face, 
That knows but one dark passion's trace :— 
" My father," said the maid, and slow 
Came forth the accents of her woe : 
" Does thy Meame plead in vam ? 
Wilt thou not heed this burning rain — • 
These tears that fall for thee, my sire ? 
Oh, turn not from me thus in ire ! 
For on my fearful heart, I know, 
Glooms the dark shade of future woe." 
" Hence, simple child !" the warrior cried ; 
" Think'st thou I fear the pale man's pride ? 
Have I not borne enough of wrong ? 
Yes ! I have borne too much, too lon^ ! 
By the Great Spirit, now I swear, 
The dog shall perish m his lair ! 
His scalp shall grace the hunter's belt ; 
The red man's vengeance shall be felt!'^ 

He goes ; and now around him glide, 



Meame. 49 

Stately and tall, dark forms of pride ; 
'Round him they come with noiseless tread — 
Unbent each form, mibowed each head ; 
From forest paths all dark and dim. 
Come the brave warriors tall and grim. 
And now, upon the jDeaceful lake. 
Their plying oars the echoes wake ; 
And now the war-song, loud and shrill, 
Is echoed back from wood and hill, 
And from the vaulted azure sky, 
• Until the low dee]) murmurs die. 



Song. 



" Brothers ! the time of revenge is come ; 

And red blood shall flow like rain ; 
The pale coward shall bleed in his home, 

And his prayers shall be in vain. 

" Their cliildren shall weep at the sound of strife, 

And tlicir wives turn pale for fear ; 
4 



50 Meame. 

But we will not heed their prayers for life, 
Nor be moved by a woman's tear. 

" Our wrongs shall be wiped in that blood away- 
The blood of the coward white ; 

They shall fall ere the close of another day, 
Before the red warrior's might." 

The murmurs of the song are o'er ; 
They reach at last the farther shore ; 
And now into the forest wide, 
With stealthy step the tall forms glide : 
StiU onward, 'neath the fervid glow 
That noontide sunbeams downward throw; 
And when its heat hath passed away. 
And cooler breezes 'round them play, 
StDl onward press they, till the night 
Obscures the day's departing hght. 
There is no murmur of a breeze, 
Stirrmg the Autumn-tmted trees ; 
There is no rustle of a leaf— 
Tlie pause is deep, it shall be brief. 



Meame. 51 

Wliy does the light wind cease its breath ? 
Fears it some scene of blood and death ? 
Why does the Chieftain bend him low? 
Hears he some somid of coming foe ? 
"What somid hath caught his list'ning ear? 
Surely, the red man knows no fear ! 
What sight hath fixed the warrior's eye 
That gleams with fiercer light on high ? 
What gives his brow a darker shade ? 
Say, is the hunter Chief betrayed ? 

What sound is that, so wild and clear. 
Makes the stern forest quake with fear ? 
And rises, yet more wild and high, 
As if 'twould rend the shrinking sky? 
It is the w^ar-whoop, echoing still 
From the dim wood and clifi'Tcrowned hill ! 
And when that dreadful sound is done, 
'T is answered by the white man's gun ! 
But ere that fire again may boom 
Upon the forest's deep'niug gloom, 
Wampaniog's unshrinking band 
Engage the warfare, hand to hand ! 



52 Me A ME. 

And now the scalp-yell louder rings 

Upon the night wind's rushing wings ; 

Yet fiercer rises now the cry, 

And proud forms bleed, and brave men die ; 

And with a pale and sickly gleam. 

The moon sends down its quiv'ring beam 

Upon those wild dark forms, which seem 

The phantoms of some dreadful dream. 

But where is brave Wampaniog now ? 
Is fear upon Ms lofty brow ? 
And doth he turn his piercing eye 
From the stern combat raging nigh ? 
Ah no ! how can his cheek turn pale ? 
How can his fierce eye, fimching, quail ? 
Oh see him fiercely struggimg now — ■ 
Revenge upon his dark'ning brow — 
With yonder brave young soldier there ! 
His dark hand in the pale bright hair : — 
Flashes his dark and piercing eye ; 
His tomahawk is lifted high ; 
But ere the white man's blood is poured. 
His side hath sheathed the soldier's sword. 



Part Third, 



( 
Another morn, another day 
Hath passed in golden light away ; 

I And now the simset's glowing beams 



Are mirrored back from dancmg streams ; 
And, gazing on the woodland there, 
We see another sunset fair ; 
^Vhere the rich crimson and the gold, 
Like sheets of Uving flame unfold. 

Meame gazes sadly now, 

With flushing cheek, and burning brow, 



54 Meame. 

Through the long aisles of forest trees — 
Her dark hair flung upon the breeze : 
Her fond dark eye is full of tears, — 
Her heart more full of anxious fears. 
"Why gazes sad Meame there ? 
Why heeds she not the smiset fair ? 
Why stands she on the lonely shore, 
Scannmg its rippling surface o'er ? 

But list ! she gives a joyous cry ; — • 
A deeper lustre fills her eye ; 
She sees a lonely, dark canoe 
Gliding upon the waters blue, — 
Another, 't is the Red-men's track, 
Bearing theu' wounded Chieftain back. 

The lone canoes have reached the strand ; 
The warrior's feet have pressed the land : 
She sees her Chieftain father's form — 
Once dread as Hghtning in the storm, — 
She sees him fall upon the ground. 
Amid the few stern warriors round : 



Meame. 65 

She sees the dark and purple tide 

Gush from his deeply heaving side ; 

She gives one wild, one piercing shriek ! — 

The blood hath left her paUid cheek ; 

Tlien kneels she by the fallen chief, 

And cries, in tones of wildest grief, 

" My Chief! my father ! say! whose sword 

Hath thus thy ebbing life-blood poured ? — 

Oh, cursed forever be the foe, 

Whose arm hath thus laid thee so low ! " 

She ceased : — the wavelets at her feet, 

Seemed her wild anger to repeat ; 

And then her father's once proud tone 

Thus sadly answered back her own : 

" Meame, to the Spirit-land I go ! 

And yet, no shaft hath pierced the foe ; 

Oh ! can my spirit rest in peace, 

Ere yet my murd'rer's life shall cease ? 

And can I meet my fathers there, 

In the Great Spirit's home so fair, 

And say not one of all my race. 

Will weep Wampaniog's lone place? 



56 Meame. 

Not one to bend the fearless bow, 
To lay the coward pale-face low ?" 

The maid half rose — ^her tears were dry ;— 
Quick flashed her dark and piercing eye ; — 
" Wampaniog ! thou shalt not be 
Forgot or unavenged, by me ! 
E'en though I have a woman's soul, 
Oft stern the thoughts that o'er it roll ; 
Am I not strong to bend the bow. 
To lay the elk and wild deer low ?— 
I swear by earth, and sun, and sky, 
That he who struck the blow shall die !" 

Then gazed Wampaniog, and smiled 

On her, his brave and fearless child. 

" Meame," then the Chieftam said, 

" When in the forest path we bled. 

My arm was strong, my heart was brave,— 

I thought not thus to find a grave ! 

But when I struggled fiercely there. 

With a pale soldier, young and fair. 



Meame. 67 

My ann grew weak, and then the foe 
Aimed at my side, this fatal blow ; 
But ere I pressed the bloody ground, 
I opened, on his brow, a wound ; 
Then freely gushed the red blood there, 
Drenching his woman's brow and hair : — 
This be thy mark, thus shalt thou know 
On whom to bend the fearless bow : 
But swear agam that thou wilt be 
Death to the foe whose arm slew me ! " 
Then knelt the maiden on the sands. 
And swore again, and clasped her hands ! 

Yet brighter flashed the Chieftain's eye, 
From 'neath his brow so dark and high ; 
Then slowly dimm'd that lightning glare, 
As wild he gazed around him there ; 
And quick he drew his parting breath. 
And struggled in the arms of Death ; 
Half raised his stately head ; and then, 
Slowly it settled back again. 
And o'er his brow there came a change— 



68 Meame. 

'Twas fearfully, and darkly strange : — 
And there he lay, cold, cold and dead — 
The wet sands 'neath his dark plumed head. 

Still, stood Meame there to gaze, 
Beneath the wan moon's tender rays ; 
Then, quickly, o'er her changing soul, 
Swej^t the wild thoughts beyond control : 
She thought of dark and dreadful deed, 
Of foe, that by her hand must bleed : 
Quicker her bounding pulses beat 
Than the vexed wavelets at her feet ; 
And then, a strange and dreadful fear 
Checked each deep sigh, and bursting tear ; 
And thoughts, she bade in vain depart, 
Pressed to her quickly-throbbing heart ; 
And to her hot and fevered braui. 
Hushed Fancy's wildly-whirhng train ; 
And on her Spii'it's aching sight, 
There rose a vision pale and bright, — 
A hvid brow with fair curls 'round. 
Shading a deep and ghastly wound : 



Meame. 59 

And from that brow the gory flood 
Drenched the bright hah' in crimson blood ; 
And more distinct that vision came, 
Till a cold shudder chilled her frame. 
Yet still she gazed, she knew not why. 
And strove in vain to turn her eye, 
Still saw that form, that ghastly wound. 
But heeded not the dark forms 'round ; 
Nor knew they bore the Chief away, 
Nor saw the first famt streak of day, 
Until the sun burst forth in light, 
To chase the dreams of dusky niglit. 



Paet Fourth. 



It is the glorious Sunset's liour ; — 
All Nature owns its soothing power ; 
Low lies the stately Cliieftain's head ; 
His form hath pressed his last dark bed ; 
And by him, in that bed so low, 
Rest his swift arrows and his bow ; 
His tomahawk is by his side, 
That oft hath drunk the crunson tide : 
And now, upon the gentle breeze, 
Moaning in sorrow through the trees, 
A requiem is heard to float : 



Meame. 61 



And now, each wild and mournful note 
Is echoing from rock and hiU, 
From the dark valleys lone and still ; 
And now, with yet more gentle play, 
Dies mto silence far away. 

Song. 



" As the tall oak falls in the wood, 
So fell our brave Chieftain low 1 
So proudly and darkly he stood, 
TiU he feU before the foe ! 

Oft we saw his form 

In the battle storm, 
Like the hghtning in the swift blast ! 

But now far away 

To the land of day, 
To the Spirit-land he hath passed ! 

" As a bright star falls from the sky, 
So now hath fallen our Chief! 



62 Meame. 

All darkly and low doth he lie, 
And we yield our souls to grief ! 
Oft we saw his form, &c. 

" Our brave hunters are now but few ; — 
Who shall fill our Cliieftain's place ! 

His arm was strong, his heart was true, 
He was bravest of his race ! 
Oft we saw his form, &c. 

" He hath gone to the Spirit-land ; 

His fathers will meet him there ! 
They will clasp the brave hunter's hand, 

In the Great Spirit's home so fair ! 
Oft we saw his form, &c." 



The mournful dirge hath died away 
With the last hues of setting day ; 
And one by one, each twinkling star 
Wakes in the deep blue sky, afar ; 
And now the crescent moon's pale light 



IVIea:me. 63 

Shines on the forest's dark'mng night ; 

And sadlj now its beams are shed 

Upon the low and silent dead. 

A form is gliding slowly now, 

Beneath the forest's tano^led boug:h ; — 

It is Meame's form of gloom, 

Before her Chieftam father's tomb ; 

It is Meame's brilliant eve, 

Gazing upon the tranquil sky. 
I And now, with aimless step of grief, 
I She leaves the dark grave of the Chief; 

And through the lone wood wanders now,— 
I The cool winds 'round her burning brow, 

Soothing her wild and throbbing brain, 

But not her sad heart's fev'rish pain ; 

Still onward, ^-ith a footstep slow, 

Beneath the burthen of her woe. 

But now she quickly turns her eye — 

She starts ! — was that a stifled sigh 

That burst upon her Hst'ning ear. 

Bidding her heart beat wild with fear ? 

Ah no ! it was the cold niorht breeze 



C4 Meame. 

That swept through the tall forest trees ; 
But now she turns the lone path's curve — 
Why strains each wildly quiv'ring nerve ? 
What sees she ? what strange, dreadful sight 
Hath caught her eye in that pale light ? 
Her brow is cold ; fixed is her glance ; 
She gazes as in some dread trance ! 

'Neath yon tall oak a stranger stands, 
His face half covered with his hands ; 
And on his brow a ghastly wound, 
Vainly, to stop the blood, is bound : 
Still flows the trickling crimson there, 
Beneath his brightly clust'ring hair. 
It is, it is her father's foe. 
On whom she swore to bend the bow ! 
Why backward shrinks the trembling maid ? 
Why o'er her dark brow comes a shade ? 
What ! is brave Wampaniog's child 
Grown thus with coward fear so wild ? 

She starts ! — she breaks the fearful spell ! — 
She draws her bow, oft drawn so well ! 



Meame. 65 

She fixes now the arrow bold, 

Though in each veui the blood turns cold ! 

She draws the strmg ! she aims the dart 

Full at the pale young stranger's heart ! 

But see ! he raises now his head, 

Ere yet the fatal shaft hath sped! — 

She shrieks ! — and Oh, that fearful shriek ! 

The curdling blood hath left her cheek ; 

Her hand sinks nerveless from the strhig, 

Giving the deadly arrow wing ! 

I 

That fatal shaft hath reached his heart ; 

' The blood weUs forth with sudden start, 

' Then gurgles from the fearful wound, 

I 

j Tinging the white frost on the ground ; — • 

He falls ! and now his manly head 

Makes the damp earth its dying bed. 

With his last glance of wild despair, 

I He sees Meame standing there :— 

I " Meame, say ! was it thy bow 

"Which laid thy hapless love so low ?" 
5 



GQ Meame. 

She answers not ; but wildly there, 

She gazes on the vacant an* ; 

Then, leaning forward her slight frame. 

She breathes herLove's, her Ormond's name. 

He hears it not : — that fearful moan 

Blends sadly with his dying groan. 



The morning smiles, all bright and still, 
On Autumn forest, vale and hill ; 
And on the bright lake's rij^pling tide 
A slight canoe is seen to glide ; 
And with a wild and frenzied eye. 
Gazing- up to the redd'ning sky, 
Meame stands, all proudly there ; — 
Floats on the breeze her raven hair ; 
And now is heard her mournful song, 
Borne on the mornino^ breeze alono^. 

Song. 



" I go ! I go ! 
To hide my woe 



Meame. 67 

'Il^eatli the darkly rolling wave ! 

My weary breast 

Shall there find rest, 
In the cold and lonely grave. 

" I shall not weep ! 

When low I sleep 
'Neath the darkly rolling wave ! 

For there is peace, 

When life shall cease, 
In the cold and lonely grave. 

" Gladly I go ! 

My home is low 
'Xeath the darkly roUmg wave ! 

There I shall be 

From sorrow free, 
In the cold and lonely grave. 

" My love is dead ! 
He quickly sped 
To the home of the true and brave ! 



68 Meame. 

That land is fair : — 
I shall rest there, 
Far beyond the lonely grave." 

And now the song is heard no more, 
To echo from the lonely shore ; 
A moment there she wildly stands — 
With frenzied motion waves her hands, 
Then plunges 'neath the glancing wave 
To find her low and quiet grave. 
A moment now her raven hair 
Floats on the restless waters there, — • 
It smks, and now is seen no more ; 
The bright wave rij^ples softly o'er, 
And many a lone canoe shall ghde 
Upon the fair lake's silver tide ; 
But thou, Meame ! thou shalt rest 
In thy cold grave, with quiet breast. 



llnn«2. 



Oh Memory! with thine earnest gaze 
Turned mournfully on other clays, 
Bring back the scenes which are no more, 
And let me read their tracery o'er ! 
Bring back the dark o'ershadowing wood, 
That round my old home proudly stood ; 
The silv'ry brook, the murm'ring breeze. 
Making sweet music through the trees ; 
The lone nook where the violets grew, 



^0 Memokt. 

And wild rose of sucli lovely hue I 
For never now, my cheek to lave, 
Such shining brooklet curls its wave ; 
And wand'ring breezes, never now 
Fan with such gentle touch my brow ; 
And other flowers, however fair, 
Breathe not such fragrance on the air. 

The Sunse.t too ! I see it still, 
Bathing in purple flood the hill ; 
Or flashing now with crimson glow, 
Upon the bright still lake below. 
Oh ! are there other sunsets fair, 
As those which seemed so radiant there ? 
And shone there ever stars so bright. 
As round that lone hill's rugged height ? 
Oh ! doth the rainbow's lovely form 
Bend o'er it brightly through the storm ? 
And doth the climbing forest vine 
Still round the old oak greenly twine ? 
And do the pale, wild flow'rets bloom, 
To cheer the forest's leafy gloom ? 



Memory. 71 

Or squirrel, 'neath the chestnut shade, 
Start at the sound himself hath made ? 
And can it be that Spring-time still 
Wakes the bright bii'ds and glancing riLl ? 
Tliat Summer suns and gentle showers 
Fall brightly on those smiling flowers ? 
That Autumn, in his rich array, 
Makes the dim woodlands stUl look gay ? 
His glowing dyes around him cast. 
And all his pomp — too bright to last ? 

Oh Autumn ! at thy coming, still, 

My heart roams back to that loved hill ; 

And clinging there awhile in pain. 

Mourns for the friends it loved in vain. 

And I can see the eyes — the liair — 

Of one who died in Autumn there ; 

Who faded with the fadmg flowers. 

Ere grief had dimmed her childliood hours ; — 

Her, whose light step, in field or dell. 

Awoke no echo as it fell. 

Oh 1 still I see her dark brown haii* 



^2 MEiTORT. 

Braided around lier foreliead fair ; 
And musing, oft I hear her song 
Faint swelluig on the wind along : — 
She was beloved ; and fell asleep ; — 
'T was well — ere she had learned to weep. 

And there were friends, now far away 
Where vernal skies are blue and gay, 
Where Spring-time ever sheds her flowers, 
And glorious song-birds wing the hours. 
Oh ! do their hearts rove back again 
To the famiUar, green old glen, 
Where the small ^\Tld-bird's plaintive lay 
Hastened the long bright hours away ? 
Tu'e they now of their southern bowers, 
That mock their hearts '^itli gorgeous flowers ? 
Long they now for the deep green dell, 
Whose quiet haunts they loved so well ? 
From bright foimts do they turn away, 
Rememb'ring stiU the small stream's play ? 
With spicy breezes round them, still 
Long for the winds which swept that hill ? 



Memory. V3 

Or, in that warmer, summer clime, 

Do they forget the " olden tune ?" 

Yet Oh ! in the still, solemn night. 

When stars look forth serenely bright. 

Doth not the pale moon's silent ray 

Speak of the friends so far away ? 

And when the streamlet's murm'ring somid 

Echoes from flow'ry banks around, 

And when the gently sigliing breeze 
, WliLspers in sorrow through the trees, 
I Doth not the sweet, sad music's swell, 
I Still sj^eak to them the word — " Farewell !" 

I 

I 

' Ah yes, it must, it must be so ! 

I By my own mournful heart I know, 

, By all those mem'ries thronging round, 

" Starting at some famihar sound — 

I The sound of some sweet voice gone by, 

That from my sad heart wrings the sigh, — 
I By all the loneliness I feel, 

"When back — far back, my thoughts do steal 

To childhood, with its happy hours, 



H Memory. 

That mid gay birds and sunny flowers, 
And leafy bouglis and dancing streams, 
Knew nanglit of life, save happy dreams. 

Oh Childhood ! Mem'ry hath no power 
To dim for thee one glowing hour ; 
To turn away the longing eye 
From th' glory of its present sky ; 
And backward turn the wishful gaze 
To joys of long departed days ! 

Oh Memory ! whence is thy power, 
Thou Ruler of the vanished hour ? 
Why dost Thou dwell with each sad heart,- 
Bidding the wild, sweet visions start. 
And makmg, with thine earnest tone, 
Its loneliness seem more alone ? 

Why dost Thou with the guilty stand, — 
Pointing with dim and shadowy hand 
To each wild deed of other years, — 
Filling his soul with nameless feai-s. 



Memoky. ^5 

Aiid leading him far, far away, 
To his own. childhood bright and gay. 
And by the vision pictured there 
Trace his dark soul with wild despa.u' ? 

Why dost Thou mth the exile roam, — 
Making each sound still speak of home, — 
Turning what might be joy to woe, 
With thy deep voice so sad and low, — 
Making each face in thy strange hght 
Seem so like those far from his sight ? 

Why dost Thou with the captive dwell, — 
Binding his thoughts with magic S])e]l, 
And, mth the dungeon walls around — 
Barring fi-om him all sight or sound, — 
StiU picture, to his weary eye, 
Dark leafy branches waving high, 
And bright blue sky, and stream, whose voice 
Could once make e'en his heart rejoice. 
And the low cottage of his bu'th, 
Dearer to him than halls of muth ? 



76 Memory. 

Oh ! he was happy once ; but now — 

And darker shades flit o'er his brow. 

Oh Memoiy ! it was but Thee, 

Making him thinJs: that he was free ! 

And dai-ker seem the walls around, 

More strong the chain by which he 's bound. 

And Memor}', Thou mak'st thy home 
Upon the dark blue Ocean's foam, 
E'en with the sailor on the sea, 
Where tempests riot ^y\ld and free. 
Where mad waves rise, and billows swell, — 
E'en he of thy strange power can tell ! 
Thou teU'st him of his home afar, — 
Lighting within his heart a star, — 
And chasiug then that hght so fair, 
Looms up the form of black Despair ! 
There, with the wUd sea's angiy moan, 
E'en there, is heard thy sadd'ning tone ; 
There, every where with thoughts of pain. 
Oh Memory, Thou dost ever reign ! 
Yet, for the voices sad and low, 



Memory. 11 

That I again may never know ; 

And for the faces mild and sweet, 

That I again may never meet ; 

For thy sweet pictures dimly bright, 

That made my childhood's pathway light ; 

For thy sweet tales of days gone by, 

Still I must love Thxic, Memory ! 



S0nnBt. 



Oft, as I strive to pierce the Future's maze, 

And read the mystic words that mark its book, 
My spirit faints within me, as I look, 

To see all dark and intricate its ways, 

Unlit by naught, save Hope's deceivuig rays : 
And I repent the glance I rashly took, 
And fain would sink into the Grave's dark nook, 

And turn away from life my weary gaze ; 

But when such thoughts, upon my spirit roll, 
There comes a whisper of sweet joy and peace. 
That gently bids my vain repining cease ; 

And sheds serenely o'er my troubled soul, 

Calm, holy thoughts, with hues of heaven so 
bright, — 

Which come in beauty, from " The book of light !" 



Let me weep ! ye know not why 

The tear is starting from mine eye ; 

But sorrow broods aromicl me now, 

That clouds my heart, and clouds my brow ; 

And the warm tears gush thick and fast, 

For I am thinking of the Past — 

Thinking those thoughts that will not sleep,— 
' Leave me alone, then, let me weep ! 
( 

Ah ! even now I seem to see 
I Those loving faces far from me ; 
j And even now I seem to hear 

Those merry tones fall on my ear ; 
1 But ah ! those friends I'll see no more — 



80 Let me Weep. 

Those friends I loved so mucli of yore : 
Oh chide not then the rising sigh, 
And bid me not my tears to dry ! 

Think not, no love to you I bear ; 
But Oh, such friends as loved me there !— 
I well believe that ye are true, 
But yet, almost untried and new ; 
Then let me think on years gone by. 
Of forms, that in the church-yard lie ; 
Oh, let me those sad mem'ries keep, 
Leave me alone, and let me weep ! 

A little while, and I shall go 
To the dark tomb, which all must know ; 
Oh, let the willow lightly wave 
Above my head, above my grave ! 
And let the gale blow softly o'er, 
That I may hear its voice no more ; 
Then in my lonely grave and deep, 
I'll be alone, yet not to weep ! 



mt ^nlt^. 



We parted ; and 't was long, — Ob, long ago ! 
Yet thoughts of her upon my heart will throw 
A gleam of light, where often sadly flow 

The memories of days gone by. 
Oh ! I have changed since then, and found new 

friends ; 
But oft with other thoughts her memory blends, 
And a deep thrill o'er all my sim'it sends, 

Stii-ring the thoughts which hidden he. 

Oh ! fain would I pass back o'er each long year, 

Whose changes from mme eye, have called the tear, 

And placed pale flowers upon Hope's lonely bier, 

Since when I met her last. 
6 



82 We Parted. 

Then life's bright way for me was fresh and green ; 
But slow have passed the lagging years between, 
And joy and sorrow both, my soul hath seen, 
Since that sad time hath passed. 

I still remember her ; — and can it be 
That she, whom I in fancy often see, 
From her warm heart calls up no thoughts of me, 

"With other, brighter dreams to blend ? 
It may be so ; yet in her gentle heart, 
I fondly hope that mem'ries sometimes start, 
Which call up thoughts of me, ere they depart, 

And to her mmd my image send. 



%\lt (£Qm^\i\u\t. 



I Doth the morn wake in beauty, while I lie, 

' Weary and weak, shut from the redd'ning sky ? 

And jfrom the purple hills, when warm and bright, 
I The new day crowns them ^vith its flushing light ? 
I Yes, it is morning ; by the lonely ray 
i That through my wmdow steals, I know 'tis day ; 
But yet, I hear no bird-notes on the air, 
I see no dew-di'ops flash from flow'rets fair, 
I feel no freshness of the mornmg breeze, 
I see no leaflets dancing on the trees ; 



84 The Complaint. 

Yet this is morn for me, whose life's young S^^ring 
Should be as joyous as the lark's free wing, 
Whose light foot bounding as the meadow stream, 
Whose life's reality, a i:>oet's dream. 

The day glides on : noontide is o'er the earth ; 
I hear a mingled sound, the shout of mirth, 
The hum of toil : more brightly now are shed, — 
Yet chastened stiU, — the sunbeams round my head ; 
Oh well I know that, now the golden day 
Floods lake, and hill, and woodland far away ; 
And I rest sadly here : yes, brightly now, 
The sunlight should have rested on my brow ; 
But yet I may not weep : the burning rain 
Hath long been dried by wild and fevered pain. 

Day hath departed : 't is the twilight hour, 
The Sunset's time : hushed by a soothing power, 
All nature sinks to deep and quiet rest ; 
The red hues of the glorious, burning west, 
Still cling to earth : they gently linger still 
To bid adieu to fount, and stream, and hill ; 



TnE COMPLAIXT. 85 

But I see not the glorious sunset now — 
Only its shadoics fiit across my brow. 

Night, with all her stars ! the glorious Xlght ! — 
The Moon sends do^Ti her full and solemn light, 
And brightly, 'round her silver-curtained car, 
Walks forth in beauty ev'ry t "tinkling star : 
Tet I may not go forth : my weary eye 
May not gaze up unto the dark blue sky : 
Still, still I lie upon a couch of pain, 
Wild forms of fancy filling up my brain ; 
And strange and misty shapes are flitting 'round 
In the deep silence, broken by no sound. 



The following lines were sng-gestcd by the remark of 
friend, indicating that he did not understand the cause of he 
remarkable cheerfulness. 



Can tliere be one who thinks the couch of pain 
Easy, because the lips do not complain ? 
Because the gushing tear-drop dare not flow, 
When from the drooping Hd it fain would go ? 
Oh, can he think the rosy blush of morn. 
With all its glowing hues, a thing to scorn ? 
Doth he not gaze, — when first the op'ning day 
Drives the dim shades of misty night away 
Upon the floating clouds, that seem too bright 
To wrap this earth in their fair fleecy Hght ? 



Cause of Cheerfulness. 87 

Oh, can he think that, then my heart stands still, 
In meek obedience to the changeless will ? 
Nor quicker throbs, when Sunset's golden flush 
Bathes the dark earth, which answers back the blush ? 
And the deep redd'ning tints that brightly glow, 

Are mirrored from the hill-bound lake beloAV ? 

I 

This he can think ; but Oh, I have a heart, 
And from its fountains deep old mem'ries start ; 
Memories of sunshine, and of health, which seem 
Ahnost like some sweet, half-forgotten dream ; 
( Yes, in the sadness of my pensive hours, 
I Steal thoughts of bright blue streams, and fragrant 

flow'rs : 
Oh, these are pleasant things of " long ago," 
And well might now the silent tear-drop flow ; 
\ But oft there comes " a stiU voice" from above, 
I A voice which saith, " thy chast'ning is in love ;" 
j And my hushed heart, from sad complainings won, 
In softened murmur says, " Thy will be done." 



Ismn. 



Oh Jesiis ! shall my humble lyre, 
In rapturous praise, to Thee aspire,— 
"When round thy throne, the Heav'nly choir 
Bow down to give Thee praise ? 

Oh ! canst Thou list'ning turn thine ear, 
My harp's famt swellmg strains to hear ? 
And dost Thou mark the fallmg tear, 
That gushes with the song ? 

Then wake, my harp ! nor wake m vain ; 
Give forth one sweetly echoing stram, 



Hymn. 89 

Stirring the thoughts which long have lain 
All silent in my soul. 

Yes, wake, my harp ! too silent long ; 
Pour forth the deep, the thankful song, 
That, borne on angels' wings along. 
At last, shall reach His throne. 

My harp ! and art thou sUent stiU ? 
Canst thou not with His praises thrill, 
AVliose boundless love my heart can fill 
With thoughts too long unknoT^n ? 

Then sleep ! the soul that bids thee pour 
The voice of song forever more, 
When life's quick fading dream is o'er, 
Shall give forth deathless praise. 



I 



" Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, !| 
while tlie evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when 
thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.'' — Eccles. iii. 1. 



When life's fair roses brightly glow, 

Upon thy warm and youthful cheek, 
When pleasure's fountains brightly flow, 
And sorrow's voice for thee is weak, — 
Then, that thy pleasure be without alloy. 

And storm-clouds come not o'er thy ^dsions bright, 
Look upward to the Giver of all joy, 

Look up ! remember thou the God of light. 

Yes, look thou upward unto Him 
Who ever guards thee on thy way ; 



"Remember thy Creator. 91 

Thy pleasure's ending may be dim, 
Thy fleeting joys may j^ass away ; 
But if thy Faith be anchored strong and fast, 

Thou need'st not fear the raging storm of grief; 
Thou hast a joy that will forever last, 

The bright 'ner of thy ho2:>e, thy care's relief. 

Yes, look thou up when life is fair, 
' When youth is on thy smiling brow, 

Ere thou the bUght of age shalt wear, 
A blight which does not mar thee now ; 
Remember Him who made thy life so bright, 

Who bids thee drink from joy's bright, sparkling 
stream ; 
Turn not thy visions fair, to gloomy night. 
Thy future j^leasures, to an empty dream. 

Ah yes ! remember Him who gave 

To thee so fair an op'ning sky. 
Turn thou and drink the living wave 

Ere age shall dim tliy sparkling eye ; 
Remember ! ere thy tliin and silver hair 



92 Remember thy Ceeatoe. 

Shall float around a sad and wrinkled brow ; 
Ere life to thee shall seem no longer fair, 

And earthly hope shall cheer no more as now. 

Ere yet thy bending form shall fade, 

Ere yet thy sight grow faint and dim. 
Ere all thou seest be wra^^ped in shade, 
Remember, Oh, remember Ilim ! 
Ere yet thy strength shall die and pass away. 
And shadows meet thy dull and faded gaze, 
And thou in bitterness of heart shalt say, 
" I have no pleasure in these evil days." 

Then look thou up, w^hen hfe's young day 

Is crowned with wreaths of richest bloom ; 
Then thou in peace shalt pass away. 
And find sweet rest within thy tomb ; 
Remember ! then, ere life's deep, gushing spring 

Be choked by spreading weeds of sin and woe ; 
Then shalt thou be remembered by thy King, 
And drink where life's pure rivers ever flow. 



" Then took he him up in his arms, and blessed God, and 
«aid, * Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.' " — 
St. Luke, ii. 28, 29. 



The old man, with his silver hair, 
Stands with a thoughtful brow ; 

Pressing an infant, meek and fair, 
Close to his bosom now. 

Long had he waited for this day,— 
Long, slowly-moving years ; 

Yet each one as it passed away, 
Left not its doubts or fears. 



94 Christ and Simeon. 

He prayed Tvith Faith's untiring voice, 
That, ere he sunk to dust, 

God would his waiting soul rejoice, 
And bless him for his trust. 

And now the joyful tears faU fast 
Adown his aged cheeks ; 

And, with the holy infant clasped 
Close ui his arms, he speaks : 

** Lord, I have seen thy ' Holy One,' 
" And pressed him to my heart, — 

" Thy well-belov'd and only Son, 
" Lord, I in peace depart !" 



<g0niid* 



To 



I fondly hoped that I had found a friend, 
When first I looked into those eyes of thine, 
And fancied light, more deej) than jestful, shine — • 
Comhig from thoughts with which mine own might 

blend ; 
From Fancy, which, its glowing hues, would leni 
To all the things of earth : a love like mine 
For Nature's wealth which shows in day's decline ; 
( In midnight stars which holy luster send 
J Down to the sleeping earth ; and in aU things 
I Of beauty and of light. I did not know, 
j That only frivolous thoughts might dwell below 

An eye so piercing bright. But Time still brings 
j Its many lessons for the heart to leani, 
1 And 'tis not wisdom from its words to turn. 



t ggiitg 6iiL 



Sweet sister ! I am dying, 
My heart is beating low ; 

I hear the voice of music, 
That calls me now to go. 

The earth is full of beauty, 
And I would stay awhile, 

To see it brightly wearing. 
The Summer's flow'ry smile, 



The Dying Giel. 97 

For now the little streamlets, 

Have scarcely learnt to trill ; 
They just begin to babble, 

And wander down the hill : 

And Sprmg-time's early blossoms. 
Scarce dare to raise their eyes ; 

They wait for softer breezes, 
For warmer, brighter skies. 

Yet there are some which waken, 

Beneath the April dew ; 
And lift to rain and smishine, 

Their cups of tender blue. 

Oh bring them now, my sister, 

And place them on my bed ; 
That I may breathe the fragrance, 

Which they so sweetly shed ! 

Oh while they thus are breathing 

Around my drooping brow, 

7 



98 The Dying Girl. 

I seem to wander idly, 
Beneatli the forest bough, 

Where we so oft, my sister, 
In happy hours have strayed ; 

The pale-eyed flow'rets gath'ring, 
Which grew beneatli the shade I 

But yet, each gloomy pathway, 

Seems full of mystic light ; 
And strange, bright forms are rising 

Upon my wond'ring sight. 

When through those aisles we wandered, 
They brightened not the air ; 

But Oh, perhaps, my sister. 
They floated viewless there 

Above us sweetly w^atching, 
Although we saw them not ; 

In lonely glen and forest. 
And in each lovely spot ! 



TuE Dtixg Girl. 99 

Ami, Oh, T\'hen we are j^arteJ, 

You'll think of what I say ! 
You'll thmk that gentle angels, 

Are ever 'romid your way. 

And it may be, my sister, 

That mth you I shall roam, 
Though silent and unnoticed, 

Around oui' cherished home. 

But yet, when rosy morning. 

Is on the dewy earth ; 
And birds are sweetly warblhig. 

Of innocence and mirth ; 

And when the blush of evening. 
Sheds gold and crimson light ; 

Or, through the jmrple darkness, 
Sliine all the stars of night ; 

In winter or in summer. 

When beauty lures thine eye ; 



100 The Dying Girl. 

In stream or gloomy forest, 
Or in the starry sky ; 

You'll think, perhaps, with sorrow, 
That they are lost to me, — 

Those varied forms of beauty, 
Which I so love to see. 

Yet, Oh, I shall be gazing 

Upon them from afar ! 
"With you I'll be admiring, 

The flow'ret or the star. 

Then mourn not much, sweet sister, 
When I am cold and pale ; 

For with you I will wander, 
Through wood and flow'ry vale. 

I'm growing weaker, sister, 
And shorter grows my breath, 

Wliile on my forehead gather. 
The chilling damps of death. 



The Dying Girl. 101 

Then take those flowers, sister, 

And place them in my hand, 
For I would carry blossoms. 

Into the spirit land. 



OR DISAPPOINTED HOPES 



Part Fiest. 



" All worlds are not like this, 
Devoid of jDeaceful bliss ; 
And fi-om the Heaven's blue, afar. 
Shines full many a glancing star, 
Where disappointment hath not birth, 
With pity gazing on this earth. 
Which in its quiet sadness lies 
Mournful, beneath the gleammg skies ; 



Herrmann. 103 

While on its rugged, gloomy brow, 
A dreary darkness resteth now ; 
And from its woods, night-breezes low, 
Whisper mysterious sounds of woe." 

Thus spake a sad man now, 

With meekly mournful brow ; 
Then quickly turns his patient eye 
Upon the brook which ripples by ; 
And thoughts, which crowd his mind the while, 
Spread o'er his face a gloomy smile. 
And thus he speaks again : " Oh stream ! 
Bright as your shming waters gleam 
Beneath the Crescent's tender beam. 
They 're not so bright as that blue eye. 
Whose glances oft have made me sigh ; 
Nor is the moonlight purer now, 
Nor fairer than her snowy brow, 

" But yet, she is not mine. 
And though her blue eyes shine, 
'T is mockery to see them bright, — 



104 Heeemann', 

I cannot claim their azure light : 

A stranger's form hath caught her eye, 

He wins her, yet I know not why : 

'T is strange that I am left to sigh ! 

'T is woman's foolishness, I know, 

That 's brought my heart this bitter woe ! 

That poor young stranger ne'er could move 

A wiser woman's heart to love ! 

" Have forty winters shed 
Grey hairs upon my head ? 
It may, it may, perhaps, be so ; 
But yet, experience, I know, 
Should be far more than match for youth : 
Still, still, it is a mournful truth 
That he has won her, — well, ah, well ! 
He must have used some wizard's spell, 
For I, blessed with far better chance, 
Could win not e'en one tender glance. 

" Oh, wily womankind ! 

Grief ne'er the heart could find, 



Heeeman:n^. 105 

Without a woman's tender wiles, — 
A woman's sweet, deceitful smiles !" 
Thus sad, he speaks on that green hill, 
T\Tiich simset leaves so calm and still ; 
Now gazing on the crescent bright, 
Which shed through sunset rays her light ; 
Or on the streamlet at his feet, 
Whose wavelets roll with endless beat. 
Like his sad heart, which may not know 
Rest from the ceaseless j^ulse of woe. 

He sees, — yet heeds he not 

The beauty of that spot ; 
He heeds not now the streamlet blue. 
With its sweet flowers all bathed in dew ; 
He heeds not now the forest proud, 
Which ne'er at man's behest hath bowed ; 
!N'or those blue hills, which darkly meet 
To chain the silver lakelet's sheet, 
"Which lies in silence at their feet, 
And mirrors, on its waveless flood. 
The purple hill, and spreading wood, 



106 Hekemanx. 

And each bright star, whose twinkling eye 
Hath dared so soon to Ught the sky. 



From where the small brook plays 
He turns, and homeward strays ; 
And, on his pillow, seeks in vain. 
The sleep which should compose his bram ; 
For still, upon his weary mind. 
Rise wand'ring thoughts he cannot bind : 
Still, thoughts of Edith fiU his heart,— 
In vain he bids those thoughts depart : 
He knows she 's at another's side. 
Another's young and happy bride : 

And then he thinks, had she been his 

But that, for hun were too much bhss 

Till now, at last, his eyehds close. 
And slumber gives him short repose. 



Now brightly comes the day : 
Night's darkness flits away, 
And, o'er the tranquil morning sky, 



Heeemanx. 107 

Bright braided Tvreatlis of vai^or lie, 
Like pearly network o'er the beam 
Of the pui'e sapphire's azure gleam ; 
'\Yhile here a cloud of pearl is tinged 
With sea-shell pink, and golden fringed ; 
And there, a cloud of crimson fold, 
Floats m a sea of flushing gold. 

Earth, too, is brightly fair, 

And, on the balmy air. 
Clouds of the sweetest fragrance rise, 
An off'ring to the bright-robed skies ; 
Fair on the meadow's living green 
Each flower of varied hue is seen ; 
By the blue stream the violet 
Stoops down, its purple crest to wet ; 
And the groimd-ivy, with its eye, 
Modest and blue as Summer's sky, 
And dandelions, fresh and sweet. 
Seem pleased the Passer's eye to greet. 

Herrmann walked forth, and viewed 
Each flow'ret Simimer-hued ; 



108 Heeemaxn. 

But yet, upon his mind was pressed 

A Treiglit that would not give him rest ; 

And as through each green fieki he strayed, 

Where goklen insects brightly played, 

And the small streamlet's silver beat 

Kept time to th' warbling music sweet ; 

And at each turn, the joys he breathed 

Of flowers that 'roimd his j^athway wreathed. 

Would almost swell the human soul 

With feelings far beyond control, — 

He sighed not less, but all day long 

He listened to the wild-bird's song, — 

And wandered musmg, 'mid the flowers, 

That blossomed iu the Summer hours/ 

So passed that Summer day. 
With its long hours, away ; 
And sad the Season passed along, 
With glowing flowers and merry song ; 
And Autunm, with its fruit of gold, 
And Winter, too, gray-haired and old ; 
But yet he sees not that loved form. 



Heremaxn. 109 

Whose gentle grace his heart could warm — 
Not till the gentle Summer's train 
Before the Autumn vrmd was lain ; 
Then he beheld once more her face, 
TTliich bore, of care, slight penciled trace ; 
Kow in her anns there drooped a flower, 
Which Autumn placed within her bower, — 
A gentle babe, whose infant face 
Bore of its mother's image trace. 

But yet he cares not now, 

To gaze upon that brow ; 
At least he thinks — ^but when is thought 
With much of truth or meaning fraught ? 
Oft did he sadly muse and sigh, 
"Not scarcely knew the reason why ; 
So he was sad — not T\'ith wild grief, 
For that, m time, will find relief — 
But the half-grief, which mourners feel. 
When time hath dulled their Sorrow's steel. 

So passed each listless day ; 
So passed the months away ; 



110 Hekemani^. 

lie sometimes saw her he had loved, 
Then, for a time, his heart was moved ; 
As when we sometimes tm^n by chance, 
Upon some friend's dear grave, a glance. 
And now two children, fair and yomig, 
'Round Edith's matron footsteps hung ; 
And he, w^hose love had clauned her heart, 
Longed from his fireside to depart, 
And seek with her a western home. 
Fairer than that from which they roam. 



The gentle, last good-bye, 
The tear, the stifled sigh, 

The half-sobbed, tender-spoken word 

Is by the lonely wand'rers, heard. 

Yes, all is o'er, and far away, 

With mournful hearts, they take their way. 



Part Second 



Redly the twilight falls 
'Round a low cabin's walls, 
I Gilding the knotty oaks, which spread 
I Their dark green branches overhead, 
I And long their uncouth shadows throw 
Upon the flower-beds bright below. 

Within those lowly walls, 
'Round which the twilight falls 
With shadows dim, and crimson Hght, 
Making the dark oak branches bright, 
A sulT'rer pale, with glassy eyes, 



112 Heeemann. 

On a low couch of anguish lies ; 
And by him, near that lonely bed, 
Where its last beams the Sunset shed, 
Stands, pale and sad, his anxious wife, 
Watching ^dth grief his ebbmg hfe : 
'Tis Edith's form stands trembhng there, 
Gazing with grief, and sad despaii-, — 
With grief beyond a tear — a sigh — 
Gazing to see her loved one die. 

Slowly, the death-dews now, 
Gather around that brow ; 
And now the su^rer speaks : " Ah me, 
This struggling soul will soon be free ! 
But Oh, my Editfi I can I die. 
Ere yet those far-off friends are nigh. 
Who, though they could not cure thy grief, 
To thy sad heart could give relief. 
And make less d^eep the bursting sigh, 
With the fond tear of sympathy ? 

" Oh, raise me !— let my eye 
Gaze on the twihght sky 1 



Herrmann. 113 

'T is the last time that I may gaze 
Upon the Simset's crimson rays : 
Farewell sweet scene ! farewell my wife ! 
Thou hast been dear to me in life ; 
And now, that I must die, I know 
That thy true heart will sink in woe ; 
Ah yes — and it ^dll almost break ; 
But Oh, for our sweet children's sake 
Live on ! Time may give some relief 
From the deep fullness of thy grief. 

" Farewell — and when my grave 

Is deep where flowers wave, 
Leave me in peace, — yes, leave my tomb ! 
Its sight will give thee thoughts of gloom ; 
Turn thou, and seek thy cliildhood's home, 
From which I taught thy steps to roam. 
Farewell ! — I hear thy bursting sigh — 
Farewell — weep not for me — I die 1" 

The last low word is said ; 

Friends gather round the dead, 
8 



114 Herrmann-. 

And close, with gentle toucli, those eyes, 
And fold those hands with mournful sighs ; 
While wildly now, the widowed wife 
Weej)s o'er the clay which hath no life ; 
And then stands fixed in speechless woe- 
Grief, which her orphans cannot know — 
And then with meek and patient heart. 
Checks the wild floods of grief which start — 
Gazing all calmly on the dead. 
Wishing that her last tears were shed. 

So passed the mournful night ; 

But with the day's soft light. 
She seemed less sad ; for Faith's keen eye 
Had lifted hers beyond the sky ; 
And she could see — though faint and far — 
A peaceful rest, hke some sweet star. 
Which, though half hid by clouds, still gleams 
On our dark way with constant beams. 



Day after weary day, 
Ghdes with its grief away ; 



Herrmann. 115 

And Edith sees her loved-one's grave, 
On whose new sod the bright flowers wave ; 
Sees for the last, last time ; — and then, 
Seeks for her childhood's home again. 

Her children bid adieu 

To wild flowers wet with dew, — 

To the dark oaks, which bent above 

Their cabin home as if in love. 

And wept, that they might roam no more 

Upon the bright lake's pebbly shore ; 

Or o'er the prdrie's trackless way, 

Amid the glowing wild flowers play. 



Months pass ; and Edith's form, 
Half bent by sorrow's storm, 
Rests m her childhood's home again, — 
Hath roamed through each familiar glen, 
And wandered by each streamlet bright, 
WQiose windings pleased her childhood's sight ; 



116 Heermanit. 

And traced the path, in that green grove, 
Which her young children learn to love : 
Through each lone nook her feet have strayed, 
Where in her childish joy she played. 

Yet still, she sadly weeps ; 

For in her soul there sleeps 
A grief which slowly, day by day, 
Wears her lone spirit's life away ; 
And each dear thing which meets her eye, 
Seems but to mock her agony ; 
The flowers, which 'round her brightly glow, 
Seem smiling at her tearful woe ; 
And the bright stream's small wavelets beat 
With murmurs mocking, (though so sweet,) 
And songs of vanished joys repeat. 

Tune changes day by day. 
And long years float away ; 
And Herrmann sometimes sees her now, 
He sees her dull and care-worn brow; 
But now, that pale and wasted form 



Herrmaxx. 117 

Ko love within Ms heart can warm ; 
Yet, when he sees her children play, 
His thoughts will often backward stray. 
Driving the mists of years away ; 
And he will sigh, as though he saw 
Some vision, brightly fair withdraw. 

And sometimes he would rove 
Through glen and leafy grove-— 

Through the dim forest's gloomy ways, 

Telling them tales of other days ; 

Or, list'ning to their prattle wild, 

In their child-eyes, himself a child. 

Lovely those children grew. 
Like fair flowers filled with dew ; 

Their young hearts bathed in Hope's rich light 

Which made the future prospect bright ; 

The eldest was a gentle gu'l, 

With rich red lips, and auburn curl, 

Of form as light, and brow as fair, 

As was her mother's, ere pale Care 

Had stamped its lines of sadness there. 



lis Heremaxn. 

Fail* was vouiig Amy's face, 
On it you miglit not trace 

One look of sorrow or of care, 

Marking the brow serene and fair ; 

And there was quiet, j^ensive grace, 

In the soft outline of her face. 

And then the roguish boy, 
His mother's j^ride and joy, 
With his dark eyes so glad and bright, 
So full of joyous laughter light; 
The youngest, with its ruddy cheek, 
And sparkhng eyes so soon to speak. 
Thoughtless, and careless as the breeze, 
Which plays in joy through Summer trees. 



But soon, far, far away. 
Where soft the south winds play, 
Theii- kind old friend must go, and leave 
Those yoimg and loving hearts to grieve ; 



Heeemaxn. 119 

And much they miss him for a-^hile, 
And half forget the joyous smile ; 
He, too, Ls sad ; but most he sigh-s 
For her, whose shining hair and eyes, 
And graceful step, and light form seem 
Like those in his lirst-loYe's sl^ort dream. 

But why should he thus sigh 

For that blue, glancing eye ? 
Or think so oft of that bright hair, 
Of that soft cheek or forehead fair ? 
For he is but an old man now. 
And grey hairs thickly strew his brow ; 
And Time hath often given trace 
Of years, in wrinkles on his face. 



Part Third 



Orphans in tliis cold world, 
Where oft the lip is curled 
At lonely misery ; and woe 
Is frowned on — not relieved below, — 
Where grief hath scarcely tune for tears. 
Ere borne away by circling years ; 
And, while it stays in some dark shade. 
Its debt of falling tears is paid ! — 
Such Edith's children now ! for she. 
In the dark grave, from grief is free. 
Slowly her form had grown more weak, 
And deathly pallor dimmed her cheek ; 



Hekkmaxn. 121 

Till at the last, Death bowed her head, 
And made for her, in earth, a bed. 

Full fifteen Summers bright 
Had j)assed, in joy and light, 
O'er youthful Amy's gentle head ; 
The sixteenth now had sped, 
When she was left almost alone 
In this cold world — though older grown 
In grief, which makes the young heart old, — 
I Still, she was yoimg — the world was cold ; 
I And her faint, shrinking spirit deemed 
I That light on this dark earth ne'er beamed. 

I 
I 

But soon, her face grew bright : 

I Her heart found Hope's delight ; 

And as her lips forgot to sigh, 
I Her beauty met another's eye ; 
I For her, another's heart grew warm, 
I His eye learned to admire her form ; 
I At first, she shrunk from human love, 

As timid as the nestling dove ; 



122 Herrmanx. 

Yet soon, she learned to trust her heart 
"With him who bade its love-fount start. 



Meanwhile, Avhere far away 
The fragrant south winds play, 
Old Herrmann roamed ; yet found not there. 
Aught which to him seemed true or fair ; 
He gazed, unmoved, on each bright scene, 
With discontentment in his mien ; 
And when he roamed by dark blue streams, 
His mind still given to aimless dreams, 
Or gazed upon the melting sky. 
With heavy heart and swimming eye, 
StiU, from his lips escaped the sigh ; 
For much he missed one timid voice. 
Which oft had made his heart rejoice ; 
But it was all in vain he strove 
To banish, or forget his love : 
He fain would think her but a friend ; 
Yet with his dreams, her form would blend, 



Heebmann. 123 

And lie resolved to seek her side, 
And strive to win her for his bride. 

And from those genial bowers, 

Blue skies and smiling flowers, 

He turns ; nor lingers now his mind 

On the bright things he leaves behind ; 

And, with a joyous heart he goes, 

From where the scented south wind blows, 

To seek the lovely orphan girl, 
' Whose sunny glance and waving curl 
' Could warm his heart, though it was old, 
' And careless minds might deem it cold. 

I 

I 

He found his youthful love, 
And tried her heart to move ; 

He told her he had missed her tone, 

And far from her had seemed alone ; 

How her young smile could, from his heart, 

Bid ev'ry mournful thought depart ; 

And that, to wdn her for his bride 



124 Hekemann. 

To be forever at his side, 

He left without a sigh, each spot. 

Though bright and fair, where she was not. 

And more, he would have said ; 

But Amy raised her head. 
As scarcely she restrained, the while. 
From her bright .lips the rising smile ; 
And with a voice, all clear and low, 
She answered : " Be thy bride ? ah, no ! 
I should but be a lonely bride, 
And could not cheer, though at thy side ; 
For soon thy mind, so wise and sage, 
Would scorn a child of such slight age ; 
But yet, in friendship, still shall be 
Thy name, the dearest name to me." 

Then Herrmann spoke once more, 
As one whose hope was o'er : 
*' Oh maiden ! should thy gentle heart 
Be torn from all thou lov'st apart, 



Heremann^. 125 

Remember me ! for still thy friend, 
^With tliouglits of thee, true love shall blend." 



And then he turned away 
As one who leaves bright day, 
I And flowers, and rills, the warm Sun's light, 

And seeks the shades of darkest night ; 
, And then he spoke in tones of grief. 
As though sad w^ords could give relief: 



" Why was I made to love ? 

Why did my heart e'er move 
To such wild folly, when such pain 
Is sure to follow in its train ? 
And why could I not win her heart, 
To share in my w^arm love a part ? 
Ah, it must be she thinks me old I 
Surely, my heart is not yet cold ; 
And though my hair with years is grey, 
Love's power hath not yet passed away. 



126 Heeemanx. 

" Why did I ever sigh 
For that bright smiling eye ? 
Why did I never learn that love 
Was not for earth, but Heaven above ? 
Yet some bestow their love on earth, 
On some dear object of true worth. 
And win the fau' one of their choice ; 
Surely, for such, grief hath no voice ; 
But yet to me, love bringeth pain. 
And sighs for that I could not gain." 

Thus, mournfully he sighs 
Till Summer daylight dies ; 
And day by day, he feels his grief. 
Which time can scarcely give relief; 
Musing of her with downcast eyes, 
And for her young sweet voice he sighs 
Thinkmg of her, months pass av/ay. 
Till sorrow turns his locks more grey. 

Amy, meanwhile, is gay, 
As bright months pass away, 



Heremaxx. 127 

Until she's at her young love's side, 
A graceful and a happy bride ; 
Yet stiU she sometimes thinks of him, 
Whose eyes for her grow darkly dim ; 
And with a heart of sympathy, 
StiU shrines his form m memory. 



Time all his changes brings. 
With years upon his wings ; 
Amy, no more a maiden now, 
(With laughing eye and sunny brow ; 
|No more the blushing, timid maid, 
iBut a young matron fair and staid, 
iWith her loved husband at her side, — 
jSer brothers grown to manhood's pride ; 
'And her fan- child, whose lovely face 
iBears of its mother's image trace : 
INo wonder, that her life goes by 
^ith scarce a falling tear, or sigh ; 
[N'or that Time, on her gentle face, 
'Forbears the flight of years to trace ; 



128 Herrmann. 

And leaves her witli contented heart, 
In all Hfe's cares to bear her part. 

More lined with sorrow now, 
Is Herrmann's wrinkled brow, — 
His whit'ning locks more thin and grey ; 
Yet still he keeps on life's rough way ; 
Still is his form unbent by years. 
His eye undinmied by falUng tears ; 
And sometimes, he forgets his grief. 
Which in long years hath found relief; 
And when he looks on Amy's child. 
He smiles as when in youth he smiled, 
And hopes when that fair child is grown. 
He may not dwell, so sad, alone ; 
But thinks, perchance, he'U claim as bride, 
His first love's grand-child at his side. 



lUr^ntt 



I see the twiliglit shadows play, 

And deepen into gloom ; 
My thoughts are wand'ring far away,- 

Far from this lonely room. 

I rise, and walk with mom*nful tread, 
My steps give forth no somid ; 

But silent as the ghostly dead, 
I pace the room around. 

As silent as the restless ghost, 
Wliich walks with noiseless feet, 



130 Florence. 

Through pleasant scenes which he hath lost, 
Wrapped m a wmding sheet ; 

Or stands withm the gloomy wood, 

Or in the dusky vale, 
With form which well might chill the blood, 

Beneath the moonlight pale. 

Thus, through the shadows dim and strange, 

I walk with languid foot ; 
While thoughts of other time, and change, 

Which in my heart have root, 

Crowd thickly to my weary mind, 

Which would forget awhile ; 
Would leave its mem'ries all behind. 

And learn again to smile. 

Yet Oh ! I cannot now be glad. 

For I am all alone ; 
And Autumn w^inds with voices sad. 

Answer with moan to moan. 



Florence. 131 

And when the Spring-tune comes again, 

My heart will not grow light ; 
I shall not be less mournful then, 

Though all things else be bright. 

I was not always gloomy so, 

I have not always wept ; 
But since I learned my grief to know, 

That grief hath never slept. 

Once I was glad, and yoimg, and gay, 

I knew not how to weep ; 
I played with blossoms all the day> 

Then with them sunk to sleep. 

Oh, brightly passed those happy years, — 

Would they might come again ! 
For then I knew no word for tears, 

I knew no sadness then. 

That small brown cottage by the wood, 
I almost see it now ; 



132 Floeence 

And tliat mad stream, which pom-ed its flood 
Beneath the forest bough. 

High were the hills which towered there, 
Their rocks with bushes hung ; 

And vines, all decked with blossoms fair, 
Across their clefts were flung. 

Dark was the glen, and wrapt in shade. 
Fault streaked with sunhght's gold ; 

Where my fair sister with me played. 
And brothers free and bold. 

And there was one — a laughing boy — 
Whose home was near to ours ; 

And his bright eyes were full of joy, 
And blue as Summer flowers ; 

And oft with us all day he played. 

Seeking, in each green nook. 
The flow'rs which grew beneath the shade, 

Down by the babbling brook. 



Florence. 133 

And, often, he would bring to me 

The sweetest flowers of Sprmg ; 
Which bloomed, when first in warbling glee 

The bu'ds began to sing. 

His name was Walter ; ah, how dear 

That name to me has grown ! 
And still it calls the gushing tear, 

To speak it when so lone. 



Ah me ! how happy were those hours, 
When we were children still ; 

And sought, and found the sunny flowers, 
On mossy bank and hill. 



Brightly the swift years passed away,— 

I was no more a child ; 
But still my life was glad and gay. 

And sunshine o'er me smiled. 



134 Floeence. 

It was one Spring, when on each hill 

The Sun shone warm and bright, 
And each blue brook, began to tiill 

Its murmurs of delight ; 

When in the meadows fresh and fair, 
Young lambs began to bleat ; 

.And on the green-sward, here and there, 
Were blossoms new and sweet ; 

I sat upon the mossy ground, 
Beside the gurgling stream, 

Watchmg its Httle waves curl round, 
Half in a bright day-dream. 

My sister sat beside me there, 
Twining a wreath of flowers ; 

But Oh, she seemed herself, more fair 
Than buds from brightest bowers ! 

Thus silently we sat awhile. 
Until she raised her eyes, 



Flokexce. 135 

Wliich mirrored forth each sigh or smile, 
Which to her Ups might rise. 

" Sister !" she said, " what passmg dream 

Can fix yom- mind so long ? 
I've watched you, gazing on that stream. 

And hst'ning to its song, 

" Till I am weary of its chime. 

And of its babbling play ; 
And weary of the lengthened time. 

Which slowly glides away." 

And then the wreath Avhich she had twined, 

She placed around my hair ; 
They were the sweetest she could find — 

Of rose-buds, rich and fair. 

And then we told, in playful mood, 

Of each new pleasant thought ; 
She spoke of Walter, and the blood 

Quick to my brow was brought. 



136 Floeence. 

She gazed, v/ith almost wond'ring eye, 

Upon my crimson cheek ; 
And then, I saw her vainly try 

Of other things to speak. 

Her lip and cheek wore death-like hue, 
And tear-drops filled her eyes ; 

They looked hke ilower-bells, when the dew 
Falls from the evenmg skies. 

"Florence, you love him then !" she said^ — 
" Alas, such were my fears !" — 

And then she bowed her sunny head. 
To hide the dropping tears. 

And then I spoke — my own eyes dim, — • 

" Nay, sister, why so moved ? 
You know not, if I have loved him. 

That Walter, too, has loved ? 

" Oh, sister Adda ! tell me all. 
Tell ev'ry thing to me ; 



Florence. 137 

Oh, has your heart heard Love's sweet call — 
That heart so glad and free ?" 

To her soft eyes the light returned, 

And warmly on her cheek, 
The thought m tmiid blushes burned, 

Which scarcely she could speak. 

And then in sweet, half-spoken words, 

She told how well she loved ; 
And that her yoimg heart's trembling chords, 

By one sweet touch were moved. 

And when she slowly left my side. 

That I might think awhile. 
The tears from her blue eyes were dried, 

And she could almost smile. 

And, as I sat beside that brook, 

Musing m tears alone, 
I thought of Adda's mournful look. 

And sweet confiding tone. 



138 Florence. 

I thought of all her hopes, her fears, 

And how her tender heart 
Would break beneath the weight of tears, 

Such grief would cause to start. 

If she should see her sister wed 
To him for whoni she sighed, 

I knew that grief those eyes would dim 
Till death her tears had dried. 

I felt that Walter loved me well. 
Though ne'er that love he 'd spoke ; 

But I resolved, that, that sweet spell, 
Should soon be rudely broke. 

Yes, I resolved to give him up. 

And give my life to woe ; 
To calmly drink the bitter cup. 

And smile no more below ! 

Ah me ! the tears flowed fast that nio^ht : 
I tried, but could not sleep ; 



Florence. 139 

And when the Sun rose richly bright, 
I scarce could cease to weep. 



The days crej^t slowly o'er my head ; 

The Sun, though warm and bright. 
Could not, upon my spirit, shed 

Its genial warmth or light. 

For though my voice was calm, and firm, 

As it had ever been, 
I still felt Grief's untiring worm, 

Gnawing my heart within. 

And, though sometimes the dimpling smile 
Would brighten o'er my cheek. 

My heart seemed breaking all the while, 
With griefs I could not speak. 

And when my Walter told his love, 

I hid my inward pain ; 
And though my lips could scarcely move, 

I spoke as in disdain. 



140 Florence. 

I cast his earnest love away, 

Though, from my wretched heart, 

I felt 'twould shut each blissful ray 
Of light, from him to part. 

And Oh ! he thought me cold and proud, 

Yet it was never so ; 
Love's voice, for him, was wild and loud, 

But duty whispered, " N"o !" 

Could he have seen my inmost heart, 
And known its shrouding pain. 

He would have felt it bore no part 
Of coldness, or disdam. 

Ah me ! it was the bitt'rest woe, 
Wliich human hearts can feel ; 

I felt my heart's blood trickling slow, 
Nor could the wound reveal. 

Yet I bore up ; I was not wUd, — 
That were a fate too blest ! 



Florence. 141 

Earth would not give to Sorrow's child, 
Xor fancied bliss, nor rest. 

The days passed on as other days, 

Save that I sometimes wept, 
And walked beneath the starUght rays, 

When others 'round me slept. 

For Walter then had wandered far 

Upon the foamy sea ; 
I thought that on the polar star. 

Perchance, he gazed with me. 

And when the Avild-v/inds swept around 

With fearful shriek and moan, 
I could but see the black waves bound, 

And hear his dymg groan. 

But yet, he came — he came at last. 
When Summer, warm and bright. 

Told that a weary year had past. 
With all its shade and Ught. 



142 Floeence. 

Yes, he had reached, without a change, 

His cherished natal sjDOt ; 
Save in the altered tone, and strange, 

That told he loved me not. 



Long weary months had passed away, 
Spring flowers were on the hills ; 

Earth smiled beneath the smile of May, 
And loosed her babbling rills. 



There was a bride, a lovely bride, 

Who must that morn be wed ; 
'T was Adda : Walter at her side, 

Moved with a joyous tread. 

Their hands were joined, the words were said, 

And they were made as one ; 
And my sad heart all sorrow-fed, 

Half Sloshed to see it done. 



Florence. 143 

Tes, half I sighed, but envied not 

Their hearts so light and glad ; 
Tliongh all the brightness of their lot 

Made mine seem doubly sad. 

And years passed silently along, 

Heedless of joy or woe ; 
For Time knows not the griefs which throng 

To human hearts below. 

And Adda faded day by day. 

Her step grew faint and weak ; 
And crimson hght would sometimes play 

Upon her wasted cheek. 

That glow was like the dying leaves, 

Wliose beauty speaks of death ; 
"Which Autumn's wind, that o'er them grieves, 

Will scatter on its breath. 

And soon we laid her in the grave, 
Beneath the budding flowers ; 



144 Floeence. 

Wliicli still in gentle beauty wave, 
When Summer gives them showers. 

But ere she died, she laid her head, 

All weeping on my breast ; 
And while the gushing tears she shed, 

Her secret woe confest. 

" Florence," she said, " most true and dear 

Of all my friends on earth ! 
You know the cloud which hovers near, 

And darkens all our mirth ; 



" You know that I must lie and ^x^^^^^. 
Beneath the sunny flowers, 

While passmg clouds above me weep. 
In warmly dropping showers ; 

" But Oh ! my sister, there 's a woe 
Which sadder makes my heart ; 

Than with all lovely thmgs below — 
With all things dear — to part. 



Floee:n-ce. 145 

" It is — Oh sister ! — can I say, 

That Waiter loves me not ? 
Yes ; that 's the cloud which dims my day, 

And mars my peaceful lot. 

" And I, sweet sister ! long have known 

Your gen'rous gift to me, 
Of that dear heart which was your own, 

And still must ever be. 

" Yet, when you gave that heart to me, 

Your grief I did not know ; 
For joy is ever slow to see 

The fallinsr tear of woe. 

" And Oh, sweet sister ! when you look 

Upon my lowly gi'ave. 
You will not blame me, that I took 

The happiness you gave." 

A year her gentle form had lain. 

And moldered in the ground ; 
30 



146 Florence. 

And clouds had cast the summer rain, 
And wmtry snows around. 

Oft had I thought of all she said, 
Before her head had pressed 

The pillow of its darksome bed, 
To find a fittmg rest. 

Then Walter sought again my love, 

And said his lonely heart, 
Away from me, in gloom would move — 

From joy and hope apart. 

I would have sold my Hfe to woe. 
Could I have told my grief; — 

To long, long years of silent woe, 
And, telling, found relief; 

But, with a gush of rising pride, 

Affection ceased to move ; 
" You wronged her who is dead," I cried, 

*' You spurned her trusting love ! 



Florence. 147 

" Her gentle soul was pm*e and true, 

So i3ure it miglit not stay ; 
Her bright head sleeps beneath the yew, 

But she is far away. 

" I know she sought her home above, 

Beyond the peaceful sky, 
Because she saw no kindling love 

Beam softly from your eye ; 

" Because she saw that, forth to me 

Your warm affection came ; 
Because she sadly felt that she 

No part of it could claim. 

" Though she on earth no more may move, 

Nor shrink from sorrow here ; 
I feel that I should dread your love. 

As though she still were near. 

" And Walter ! should I be your bride, 
It would not be forgot, 



148 Floeence. 

How she went mourning at your side, 
Because you loved her not." 

We parted ; and the years of grief 
Have darkly rolled away ; 

Yet Time hath given no reUef, 
Since that sad parting day. 

And I am sadder, sadder still, 
As mournful years go by ; 

Time sorrow's goblet seems to fill, 
To swell the bitter sigh. 

Some smile to see me dwell alone, 
From earthly love apart ; 

Because they think no lover's tone 
Hath wooed my maiden heart. 

Ah me ! they know not half the woe 
That swells my sinking heart ; 

To feel, from all things bright below, 
From all things loved, apart. 



Florence. 149 

But I shall sweetly rest erewliile, 

Beside my sister's form ; 
Forgetting all the sunshine's smile, 

The darkness, and the storm. 



I urn all ^Uwt. 



When first the notes of the wild-bird I hear, 
"When the first brook's music falls sweet on my ear, 
When Spring is decking, with garlands of leaves, 
The darksome brows of the old forest trees, 
I am all alone. 

Wlien the gentle Sprmg resigneth her care, 
Of the budding trees, and the flowers fair. 
When Summer her ardent heat hath begun, 
When fiercely, on high, is glowing the sun, 
I am all alone. 



I AM ALL Alone. 151 

When the sultry heat of Summer is o'er, 
And Autumn is bringing his tempting store 
Of ripened fruit, from the fading trees, 
Wliere solemnly sigheth the mournful breeze, 
I am all alone. 

"When stern Winter howls on the dreary gale, 
And earth lies asleep 'neath a snowy vail, 
When storms wildly riot and clouds darkly lower, 
And madly the Storm-king asserts his dread power, 
• I am all alone. 

I am all alone ; for when sorrow is near, 
And no ray of hope is given to cheer, 
No heart to mine heaves an answering sigh, 
And no tear for me dims another's eye, 
I am all alone. 



i(yp 



The flowers had gone— yes, every one 
That brightly gazed on the Summer sun ; 
The Autumn leaves, too, had passed away, 
With their hues of gold and crimson gay, 
And the cold grey clouds were bending low, 
Beneath their burden of chilling snow. 

The song-birds no more the forests might cheer, 
They had sought a clime which is far less drear ; 
And the sparkling brooklet danced alone, 
Or danced to the tune of cold wind's moan, — 



Hope. 153 

And it played unseen its merry pranks, 

For no flowers smiled or peeped o'er its banks. 

And, as darkling it went on its way, 

It seemed in a mournful tone to say, 

" Where are the flowers that stooped to lave 

Their blushing cheeks in my crystal wave ? 

And where are the birds, which joined my song 

With their sweet voices all the day long ?" 

The forest frowned, as it saw the doom 

Of the clothing bright, which hid its gloom ; 

It looked on the fallen leaves and said, 

" My crown of verdure hath left my head ; 

The birds have left me and gone away. 

For my boughs are dark — ^they would not stay." 

" But why, dark forest, and streamlet bright, 
Mourn for the things that have left thy sight ? 
For, httle streamlet, bright flow'rs shall smile 
O'er thy dark and gloomy waves erewhile ; 



164 Hope. 

And through thine aisles, dark forest, shall ring 
Far sweeter notes, at the coming of Spring." 

The dark old forest Hfted its head, 
And mourned no more for its verdure dead ; 
And the murmuring streamlet glid awaj, 
'[KTeath the chains of ice that bound its play ; 
For Hope told the forest of brighter hours, 
And the darkling stream, of sunshine and flow'rs. 



%\t star. 



I looked into the skv, afar, 

And there was one pale twinkling Star, 

That shone amid the clouds ; 

And from its station high. 

It cheered the gloomy sky 
With tender light. 

I watched it as the clouds of grey 
Passed by it on their misty way, 

And still it faintly shone : 

StiU silently it gleamed. 



156 The Star. 

And faint its lustre beamed 
Through midnight gloom. 

And to that lonely Star, I said, 

Which, calm and pale, its brightness shed;- 

" What art thou, silent Star ? 

Art thou an angel's eye. 

Thus gazing watchfully 
Upon me now ? 

" Art thou a lamp on high to stand 
At eve, held by an angel's hand ? 
And what thy office there, 
Amid the cloudy sky, 
Where dark clouds broken fly 
Across thy light ?" 

And from the dark sky, far away, 

The Star, faint flick'ring, seemed to say, — 

" Heaven needs not my light ; 

I hold my station here 



The Stae. 157 

The lonely earth to cheer, 
With peaceful ray. 

"Contented here I calmly stay ; 
For though from earth so far away, 

Mortals may see my Hght ; 

And 'tis to teach them here. 

Amid the clouds so drear, 
I stay in gloom, 

" I am hke Faith which shines to cheer 
The mortal's path, so lone and drear. 

By peaceful thoughts of heav'n ; 

Though heav'n seems distant far. 

Yet Faith's undying star 
Shines on his way. 



f|TB §r0lun fart's gvtqtt^st^ 



Let me die, for I am weary, 

And my soiil is full of woe ; 
Oh this life is dark and di'eary ; 

To the grave, then, let me go. 

For my head is sick with aching, 

And my tears, they ever flow 
From the heart that's crushed and breaking ; 

To the grave, then, let me go. 

'Neath the shadow of the willow, 
Let me calmly lie and sleep ; 



The Beoken IIeaet's Request. 159 

Let me find a welcome pillow, 
In the grave so dark and deep. 

Let me lie beneath the flowers, 
They will bend above my tomb ; 

And will di-op their gentle showers 
Of sweet tears, to cheer my gloom. 

Let the singing brook flow near me, 

I shall love its pleasant tone ; 
For its murm'rings soft will cheer me, 

When I'm ia the grave alone. 

Let me die, my heart is aching, 
'Neath the sod to he and sleep : 

Sleep the sleep that knows no waking, 
In the narrow grave and deep. 



S0nitBt. 



DREAM 



I dreamed I saw tliat lake, all pure and bright, 
Beneath the rosy dawn of morning lie, 
Reflecting back the wood, and hill, and sky. 
And clouds, which made a pearly net-work bright 
Across the blue, pleasing the gazer's sight ; 
And on each side, the hills rose green and high, 
On the still lake, their pictures met my eye, — 
Soft and subdued, m that still dreamy Hght. 
Then slow, that blessed vision passed away, — 
Passed the bright sky, and greenly swelUng hill, 
And the blue lake which rose so sweetly still, 
As things too fair, too beautiful, to stay : 
And I was with the gloomy night alone, 
A Hst'ning to the wind's unceasing moan. 



Snnn^t 



AUTUMlSr 



There is a sigh upon the gloomy air, — 

A wail for the departed Summer houi'S, 
I Which mingles with the chilling Autunm showers, 
I Sad as the mournful whispers of despair, 
I O'er the lone vales which Summer left so fair, — 
' Or, sweej)ing wildly through the faded bowers, 
As mourning for the pale and withered flowers, 
j Which once were resting bright and richly there; 
I Mourning above the dead and fallen leaves. 

Which in the dark'ning forest faded lie, 
I Beneath the frowning of the cloudy sky : 
j And now with louder, wilder tone, it grieves. 

As night upon the lonely earth comes down, 

I 

Cheerless, and dark, without her starry crown 
11 



S0 €. 1. 



& 



Bound to a coucli of restless pain, 
By fell disease — a loathsome chain ! — 
I often give a passing thought 
To some dear, absent friend, 
And dreams with holy friendship fraught, 
With darker visions blend. 

And oft, when Fancy roves all free, 
I think, my absent friend, of thee ; 
And of departed hours which seem, 

Now that their joys are past, 
The brightness of some happy dream 
Of light, too fair to last. 



Lines to E, B. 163 

Yes, Thought — unshackled Thought, may rove 
On magic wmgs of jjurest love ; 
But yet my weary bemg still 
Must wait in fev'rish pain, 
Kor follow out the wand'ring will 
Of my most restless brain. 



Oh ! when my thoughts thus rove afar, 
Fleet as the lightning's fiery car, 
I seem to greet thee far away, 

Where thou in peace dost dwell ; 

Where southern skies above are gay, 

And soft winds 'round thee swell. 



And, then, with wilder, freer flow, 
My thoughts turn to the " long ago ;" 
And through the dim and misty track 

Of Time's unvarying way, 
I call the lovely visions back 

That blessed my childhood's day. 



164 Lines to E. B. 

Then fast tlie loved ones come around ; 
I hear some voice's remembered sound ; 
I clasp some loved, famihar hand, 

That now is far from me ; 
I seem with well known friends to stand- 
Dear forms I seem to see. 



I rove with thee, my friend, beside 

The silver streamlet's rippling tide ; 

Again I pluck the smiling flow'rs 

That on its green banks grew, 

And hve again the happy hours 

That careless childliood knew. 



But now, some swifter, eddying blast 
Goes whirlmg with the snow-flakes past, 
Scatt'ring the dreams of Fancy bright, 

Which were too fair to stay : 
Around me glooms the cloudy night, 
And thou art far away. 



StftllUt 



TO IsT 



I. 

Oh ! canst tliou love to search the human mmd, 
To rove through all its chambers, wide and deep, 
And read the thoughts when wildest passions 
sweep ? 
Oh ! canst thou love such fearful things to find, 
To see the chains of sin, which ever bind 
Each earth-born spirit, and in bondage keep 
The soul where vii'tue lays her down to sleep, 
The soul round which the serpent's folds have twined, 
The human soul, fallen from joy and light ? 

Oh! is't not like the withered flower that grows 
Beneath the Upas' deadly shade, which throws 



166 Sonnet. 

On all that might be loveliness, a blight, 

Fearful and deadly, whence it ne'er may rise, 

To breathe sweet fragrance, or to charm the eyes? 

II. 

And have I read thy heart in truth aright ? 
Is it not full of beatings warm and kind, 
And hast thou not a sweet, and gentle mind ? 
Such, it does not seem to casual sight ; 
Yet oft I know the soul is richly bright, 

With hues of thought, unseen by other mind. 
That seeks in vain its kindred soul to find ; 
And often overlooks in random flight. 
The one it seeks, the warmly beating heart, 
With its deep tenderness an untried well 
Of living waves, whose sweetness none can tell, 
Until the closely hidden fountains start. 
And burst that soul to lave, that kindred soul, 
Which ever after, clauns its love's control. 



%\ltxt ut n0 ih)^tt$ |;nto* 



There are no flowers now 
Upon earth's furrowed brow : 

The dewy garland, blooming brightly there 
Before the Winter's blast, 
Which sweeps so wildly past, 

Faded ; and its sweet fragrance left the air. 

Oh, fairer than the crown, 

Which came in sadness down. 
The flowers, which decked the forehead of the earth 1 

Sweeter than bu'ds which sing. 

Than bells which gaily ring, 
Striving to give to Winter thoughts of mirth I 



168 There are no Flowers !N'ow. 

And when the wind goes by, 
And smfl the snow-flakes fly, 

Coining to earth m white and frozen showers ; 
I sigh for Spring's sweet time, 
Or Summer's fervid prime — 

I sigh — ah yes, — ^I sigh for gentle flowers ! 



Oh earth ! canst thou not yield 
One flower from wood or field, 

Its gentle beauty shielded by the snow ? 
While chilling Tvands above 
Sweep through the leafless grove. 

Seeming to heed the flower vvhich sleeps below ? 



Ah no ! the streamlet's brink, 

Where flowers stooped down to drink, 
And violets were hidden by their leaves, 

Grew cold at Winter's breath 

And yielded up to death, 
The faded flowers, o'er which the N'orth-wind grieves 



Theke are no Flowers Now. 169 

And Winter will not bring 

Back on his frosty wing, 
The leafy beauty of the Summer bowers ; 

But when the wind sweeps by, 

Like a sad mourner's sigh, 
I long— ah yes, — ^I long for gentle flowers ! 



Oh, for one dewy bell 

To weave its soft'ning spell — 
Its spell of beauty — 'round my mournful heart I 

Oh, for sweet blossoms now, 

To wi*eath my burning brow, 
And bid the thoughts which croAvd my brain depart ! 



But Earth heeds not my sigh ! 
The smft winds still go by, 
Sadd'ning with their wild tones the winter hours ; 
.And still the frozen cloud 
Wraps earth in snowy shroud ; 
I And I must wait — ah yes — wait long for flow'rs ! 



I. 

CATALEPSY 



In Ibriglitness passed the long slow-footed day ; 
The yellow sun shed down its mildest beams, 
Filling my drowsy mind with Fancy's dreams ; 

And each bright moment lagged upon its way, 

And linger' d, as it fain would longer stay ; 

And in my ear were sounds like rippling streams. 
Which languid flow beneath the sunlight's gleams, 

All brightly dallying in idle play. 

Then slowly o'er my form a feelmg came 
Of perfect rest, binding each nerve so still, 
My hand no longer might obey my will : 



Retuknikg Consciousness. 171 

And all grew perfect silence, as my frame 

Was bound in death-like trance ; and days passed by 

Ere ligbt again unsealed my sleeping eye. 

II. 
RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS. 



I looked around me in that silent room, 

Though scarcely now my faint, enfeebled gaze 
Could bear the lustre of the sunlight's rays, 
'Wliich crept, in beauty, through the cmlained gloom, 
That seemed so like the shadow of the tomb ; 
And scarce I knew of the departed days ; 
For dim Forgetfuhiess had wove her maze, 
And wrapt each languid sense in rayless gloom. 
I felt almost like one from death awoke, 

Who, slowly rising from the grave's embrace. 
Looks 'roimd on forms his eye can scarcely trace 
With wond'ring gaze : and, when that spell was broke, 
And languid life-blood sought again my cheek, 
I faintly gazed around, surprised and weak. 



%B lln. §. 



Oh stricken one ! grief thou hast known too well ; 
Thy heart hath bowed beneath its mournful spell : 
Each earthly hope hath crumbled to the tomb, 
And left thy lonely heart in deeper gloom, 
And faded from thy trembling grasp : 
Each hope that crossed thy sky, 
Hath mocked thy weary eye, 
And sunk to Death's unv/elcome clasp. 

Thy loved, thy cherished one hath left thee now ; 
Cold, cold and still, Death sits upon his brow. 
Earth was too dark ; and he hath passed away, — 



Lines to Mes. B. 173 

lie, wliose young smile could cheer thy saddest day. 
The cold damp earth his lonely bed : 

He sleepeth calmly there, — 

He left to thee, Despair, 
Oh, mournful mother of the dead ! 

Thy joy hath perished ; and thy hfe no more 
May be as joyous, as it was before ; 
But yet, perchance, thy wrung and fainting heart, 
That bled to see thine only son depart. 

May rise from 'neath its weight of grief ; 
And cheering hope may rise, 
And point thee to the skies, 
There, there to find thy sweet relief. 



W\m sl]all k mg M gtsting-|Iiia ! 



Spirit of Prophecy ! I may not look 
Into the guarded Future's mystic book ; 
I may not know the secret of my life, , 
Whether of tranquil ease, or busy strife ; 
But grant, one moment, thy inspiring breath — 
Let me but know where I shall lie in death ! 

Shall it be where a thousand flowers raise 
Their beautiful heads to the sun's bright gaze ? 
Where the murmurmg breeze that passes by, 
Doth softly breathe, like the mourner's sigh ? 
Where the deep blue sky is foi'ever fair, 
O'er the dancing brook that is playing there ? 

Shall I sleep where the Alpme mountains high, 
Pierce with their peaks the miclouded sky ? 
Where the blue flowers that are drooping below, 
Ever rest their heads on eternal snow ? 



My Last Resting-Place. 175 

Where the dread avalanche startles around, 
The echoes wild that awake at the sound ? 

Or where the red sands of the desert rise, 
To the swift simoom that over it flies ? 
Where the fiery Sun looking down in wrath. 
Heats to a furnace the pilgrim's path ? 
Where the gloom is cheered by no gentle flow'r, 
And no singing brook beguiles the long hour ? 
Or in Ocean's depths shall I find a grave, 
In the dark blue haUs of the bounding wave ? 
ShaU I die asleep 'mid gems of the sea. 
While fiiends from afar shall weep over me ? 
While darkly the waters above me shall beat. 
And the snow-white foam be my winding sheet ? 

Prophetic Spirit ! I will speak no more : 
The days of ancient prophecy are o'er ; 
Nor will I ask my resting-place to know. 
Perhaps the wished for knowledge might be woe ; 
Some spot might be my grave, so drear, so lone, 
I'd shudder, if I thought that tomb my own. 



§u % ^mi\ 0f a ixim. 



Oh Death ! and couldst thou not have taken 

Some other floAv'r, less fair, less bright ? 
And left some other hearth forsaken, 
"Which ne'er before had known thy blight ? 
But no ! thou didst but aim thy dart, 
. To cause the founts of grief to start 
From out the wrung and bleeding heart, 
That mourns for her : — 

Beneath thy sway, 
Great Conqueror, 
She passed away. 

Ah, mournful Death ! thou scarce hast waited 
For Time to heal one bleeding wound ; 

Again thy fierce thirst must be sated, — 
Another lovely victim found ; 



On the Death op a Friend. 177 

And slie, we loved, hath passed away 
From earth's rich brightness, fau' and gay : 
Affection might not bid her stay. 
Oh, she hath gone 

To the cold tomb, 
All dark and lone, 
In silent gloom ! 

Deep is the void which thou hast made. 

And sad hearts, while her mem'ry lives, 
"Will ever hold a mournful shade, 
That only crushed affection gives. 
Oh, oft in after, brighter hours, 
When Autumn blights the gentle flowers. 
And blends with Winter's snowy showers, 
The thoughts of her 

Whom thou hast bowed, 
Great Conqueror, 
Fond hearts will cloud ! 



S^lUBt, 



TO A PRESSED VIOLET 



Thou art all dim and j^ale, my forest flower ; 

Thy leaves, that once were green, are dead and dry ; 
Thou bear'st no more the tints of Summer sky, 
As thou didst once, when in the wild-wood bower, 
Where gloom and silence ruled the sluggish hour, 
Thou didst all meekly gaze with timid eye, 
Upon the silent bird that flitted by, — 
Or raising thy bright cup to catch the shower. 
That fell in silver droppings on thee there. 

And brightened oft thy deep and pensive hue, — 
Or thou didst wait for Night's still falling dew, 
Which bade thee in its grateful blessing share. 
Thus thou in meek humility didst d^vell. 
Thankful for dew, and shower, which on thee fell. 



S0nnH» 



TO A GOLD PENCIL 



Oh precious gift ! gift of a cherished friend I 
Shall I not ever fondly gaze on thee 
With sweetest thoughts ? thou hast a charm for me, 
Which o'er my soul a thrill of joy doth send ; 
For, mth fond dreams, thoughts of thy giver blend. 
And as I gently, fondly gaze on thee. 
Friendship's sweet waves gush from their foun- 
tains free. 
And, as they floAv, a charm to thee they lend : 
And it may be, perchance, in future years, 

WTien, one by one, life's joys have passed away, 
And Hope's bright flowers have gone to dull decay, 
And left my sinking heart to grief and tears, 
That I may look with a still fonder eye. 
On thee, as on a friend of days gone by. 



fl]e |fi(t's |«ri 



Oh ! who is there, can know the Poet's heart, 

With all its wealth of imagery ? 
The blessed visions which so brightly start 

Upon his dreaming spirit's eye ? 

And who may know the living fountain's gush, 
Whose streams refresh each heart below ? 

Or the wrapt spirit's calm and holy hush, 
Ere those bright words begin to flow ? 

Or who can tell the thoughts which brightly glow 
Upon the warm heart's sacred shrine ? — 

Those angel thoughts, which softly come and go, 
Like breathings from a world divine ? 

We hear the melting murmurs of the lay, 
With hearts responsive to the strain ; 

But Oh ! the soul from wliich these burst away, — 
What thought can pierce, or word explain ! 



©t Sljoiift I §k iit ®Unttr! 



Oh ! should I die in Winter, 

When earth is cold and chill, 
And fierce north winds are piping 

With voices wild and shrill ; 
When o'er the shrouded meadow 

The chirpmg snow-bird flies, 
And with its voice is calling 

The storm-clouds to the skies ; 
Or, when the sun is gazing 

From out the greyish sky. 
To see the snow reflecting 

The brightness of his eye ; 
Or Night's pale stars are gleaming 

With softer, purer light, 
As though they journeyed nearer 

Those orbs of glances bright, — 
To teach us that the Season, 

Though dark and cold below, 



182 Oh, Should I Die in Winter! 

Gives clearer view of heaven, 

Than Summer could bestow, — 
Oh ! should I die in Winter, 

When all things speak of death, 
And to the Winter's keeping 

Resign my last, last breath, 
No flowers would deck my cofiin, 

No flowers would wreathe my head ; 
And nothing bright go with me 

To cheer my lonely bed. 
But yet, there are, in Whiter, 

Upon a streamlet's brink. 
Where Spring-time's dewy blossoms 

Stooped gently down to drink, 
Small, brightly shining jewels, 

Bending above the stream. 
That to the chilly sunbeams 

Send back a rainbow gleam. 
Ah, there are forms of beauty 

Upon that streamlet's edge, 
Fairer than Summer blossoms 

Glancing from leafy hedge ; 



Oh, Should I Die in Winter! 183 

For when the wind sweeps 'round them 

In fierce and angry whirls, 
Each dried sprig seeks the water, 

And rises gemmed with pearls. 
Then Oh, should I, in Wmter, 

Resign my last, last breath. 
Bring those bright water jewels 

To gem my brow in death ! 
Yes, should I die in Winter, 

Bring, bring those jewels fair, 
Those sprigs of purest crystal, 

And twine them in my hair. 
Place them within my coffin, 

Around my sleeping head ; 
Let something bright go with me 

When I am with the dead. 
Ah, yes ! — to show that darkness 

Is not my Spirit's dower. 
Bring those bright shapes of beauty, 

Gemmed Avith the icy shower. 



'gi^\i' 



It is the still, and holy-breathing Night ; 

And well I know, that from the azure sky, 
The twinkling stars are gleaming, pale and bright, — 
Sending to earth their faint, and flick'ring light, 
Beaming like dying watch-fires on the sight ; 
Or like meek flowers that darkly cradled lie, — 
Serene and peaceful in their place on high ; 
Shedding their beauty, that, so sweetly bright, 
Illumes the Heaven's dark, but tranquil face, 
As if the Angels' fond and loving eyes 
Were bendmg towards us, from th' midnight 
skies. 
To watch us calmly through the darkened space, 
And guard the earth by theii' imfading charm. 
That it may sleep in sUence, safe from harm. 



lifK 



Gloomy clouds are flitting by, 
O'er the Winter's cheerless sky ; 
iVnd the Moon's unsleeping eye 

Gives no light. 
Sad and cold the winds are sighing, 
O'er the leaves that dead are lying, 
Or on wild-winds swift are flying. 

Through the Night. 

Now and then the rain-drops patter, 
And again the dark clouds scatter, 
Showing each unseemly tatter, 

As they part. 
Such is Life, when reft and lone ! 
Sad we hear Death's tempest moan, 



186 Life. 

"When all we ever lov'd hath flown 
From the heart ! 

Coldly 'round its breath is sighing, 
O'er the forms that cold are lying — 
Gentle ones who left, when dying — 

Left no hght. 
Yet, now and then, a light we spy, 
Through the dim clouds which broken fly, 
Beaming purely from on High, 

On the sight ; 

Then we think on some dear form, 
Whose loved mem'ry still is warm. 
Cheering through Life's troubled storm, 

Like a spell : 
Those dear forms which are no more. 
Seem to beckon to the shore, 
"SYhere they now — Life's sorrow o'er — 

Peaceful dwell. 



Ps §xtm 0f i^tfe 



Part First 



Mingled with dying light, 
Slowly the shadows fell, 
Deep'nmg and dark'ning 'round 
Within my lonely room. 
Where pensively I lay. 
There was a gentle hush 
Amid the piping winds ; 
Their voices murmured low, 
As though they ceased to howl, 
To see from out the sky, 



188 My Deeam of Death. 

The "Winter sun depart : 
Slowly it sunk to rest, 
With cold unsadden'd face ; 
For it had searched the earth 
Throughout that Winter day, 
And found no lovely thing, 
On which its closing eye 
Might wdsh to gaze again. 

Slowly the objects 'round 
Grew dim before my eyes ; 
I scarcely saw them then, 
Amid the soften'd gloom : 
Famter, and fainter still. 
The shadows played around, 
Till dreaming — there I lay — 
Dreaming of brighter things. 

I thought that buds of Spring 
Were twining in my hair ; 
I thought that breezes low 



My Dream of Death. 189 

Played softly o'er my cheek ; 
I thought that wmding brooks 
Rippled aromid my feet, 
And birds of plumage bright, 
With voices soft and low, 
Warbled their songs of love, 
Amid the op'ning flow'rs. 

And then, there came a sound, 
As if my name were called : 
I started ! — 'twas the wind 
Sighing in broken sounds. 
Amid the far off woods. 

With bursting sighs I woke ; 
And, through the whit'ning pane, 
Famtly the light was shed : 
The dying sunset rays 
Were struggling with the stars. 
Which twinkled through the sky. 
I wept ! — The gushmg tears 
Flowed swiftly do^vn my cheeks ; 



190 My Dream of Death. 

For ah ! that blessed dream 
Had stirred such raemories, 
That, from my smkmg heart, 
The tears came forth like rain, 
When, from an April cloud, 
It falls in fitful bursts, 

" Oh what is hfe !"— I sighed— - 
*' When every hope is vain, 
WTien bright dreams only come 
To mock the troubled heart ? 
Oh ! better were the grave — 
The cold and silent grave ; 
For there, the shrouded form 
May claim a dreamless rest." 
But soon, my wretched heart 
Recalled the hasty word ; 
" Oh, God forgive," — ^I sighed, — . 
" Forgive thy murm'ring child 1" 

And then my soul grew calm ; 
The hot tears left my eyes ; 



My Dkeam of Death. 191 

And o'er my drooping lids, 
Sleep scattered her repose ; 
And I forgot my grief 
In Slumber's gentle clas]) ; 
Forgot that murm'ring thoughts 
Had crowded to my heart. 

Then, on my sight there 'rose, 
Slowly, a snow-white form. 
Which gazed upon me there. 
With coldly gleaming eye : 
In vain I strove to speak. 
For Terror froze my lips. 
And fixed my shrinking eyes. 
Still, fearfully I gazed ; 
Nor could I turn away. 
Upon that pallid brow 
There rose a crown of pearls. 
Which seemed like ice-droj^s torn 
From hoary Winter's hand. 
And placed upon that brow. 
To shine in coldness there. 



192 My Dkeam of Death. 

Cold was that marble face ; 
No passion rested there ; 
But yet, in that wan smile, 
Which wreathed those ashy lips, 
There seemed a pensive grief, — • 
A sadness, almost gone ; 
And pity in those eyes, 
Seemed frozen, yet not dead. 

Withui that mai'ble hand 
A wand of ice Vv^as pressed ; 
A strange and mystic wand. 
Which seemed to freeze the air ; 
And there were snow-white wings 
Upon that rigid form ; 
And when they slowly moved, 
They sent an icy breath 
Through all my shudd'ring frame. 

" Angel, if such thou be," 

(At length, I, whisp'ring, spoke, 

Though scarce my stifF'niug lips 



My Dkeam of Death. 193 

Could speak the broken words :) 

" Whence, wherefore art thou come ? 

And tell me what thy name, 

That thou shouldst seek me here, 

And stand beside my bed, 

In this cold midnight gloom !" 

Scarcely the words I spoke, 

For Fear was on my heart ; 

And faint the accents came 

From out my parted lips. 

When thus the Form replied : 

" Thou'st asked me, ' what my name ?' 

'Tis one which mortals fear : 

Hear it, and shudder then ! 

Know thou my name is Death !" 

Trembling and faint I shrunk ; 

The warm blood left my cheek, 

And froze within my heart. 

" Oh Death ! and hast thou come"— 

With trembling lip I spake — 

" To claim me now for thine ? — 
13 



194 My Dream op Death. 

To still my beating heart, 

And place my pallid form 

Within the silent grave ? 

Wilt thou not wait, Oh Death ! 

Till Winter is no more ? 

Oh, can I die in peace 

While loud the tempest raves, 

And whistling winds bring down 

From clouds of snow, their showers ! 

Oh, can I rest in peace 

Beneath the frozen sod, 

While heaps of glitt'ring snow 

Seem marbles for my tomb ! 

Oh ! then, wilt thou not wait 

Till Winter's reign is o'er ? 

Till, from the breezy South, 

The Spring-time comes again, 

And brings her op'ning buds, 

And all her singing birds 

To warble in the grove ? 

Oh ! then, beneath the sod. 

Whereon the sunshine rests, 



My Dream of Death. 195 

Death ! I will go with thee, 
And murmur not to sleep 
Beneath the blooming flowers." 

I ceased ; and Death repUed : — 
" Mortal, why should st thou fear? 
I claim thee at the last : 
Better to die when young, 
Ere yet the Earth has gained 
Too large a share of love, — 
Ere yet thy soul hath grown 
Familiar with its sin ; 
But thou hast said that now, 
When Earth is dark with storms, 
Thou couldst not die in peace. 
And rest within the grave. 
O, Avouldst thou not meet Death, 
When Earth thy mother dies. 
And, 'neath her snowy shroud, 
Rest silent, undisturbed ? 

" Thou wouldst not hear the winds 
Pipmg above thy head ; 



196 My Dream or Death. 

Thou wouldst not feel their breath, 
Nor see the gloomy Earth 
Shrouded with drifted snow ; 
But calm, in dreamless rest, 
Forget thy Sorrow's load. 

" And, should I wait for thee, 

Till Winter's reign is o'er ; 

Until the joyous Spring 

Brings blooming flowers and birds, 

Thou wouldst not hear the song, 

"NoY see the blooming wreath, 

For silent thou Avouldst lie 

Within thy gloomy grave : 

Unheard the sounds would fall 

Above thy sleeping head : 

Unseen, the flowers look gay. 

Naught, naught could wake thee there, 

" But yet, thou needst not fear ; 
I have not come for thee. 
To lay thee in the gra^e ; 



My Dkeam of Death. 197 

^N'ot yet thy heart shall cease 

To beat ^\ithm thy breast ; 

"Not yet thine eye shall close 

In its un waking sleep ; 

But thou shalt go with me 

Beyond the reahns of tune ; 

And thou shalt see the forms, 

Which move no more on Earth ; 

And thou shalt hear the tones 

Of voices, rich and sweet. 

Which earthly fi-iends have mourned, 

And missed, from day to day, — 

Which sought the lonely tomb, 

And left their grieving sight. 



" Come, then, and go with me 
Beyond the realms of Time ; 
Unharmed I take thy form, — 
Unblighted by my breath ; 
Safe wiU I bring thee back, 
Back to this gloomy world." 



198 My Dkeam of Death. 

Scarcely I heard the ^ords ; 
For o'er my form there came 
A sense of heljiless rest, 
Still as the pallid clay, 
Which sinks to darkness down, 
And makes the tomb its bed. 
Breathless I rested there, 
I closed my weary eyes ; 
For on the languid lids. 
Death's icy wand was pressed. 

I lay in silence, thus, 
Nor knew how long the time ; 
But when my eyes unclosed, 
And, startled, gazed around, 
'Twas on a brighter scene 
Than e'er before they met : 
Fair as the artist sees, 
When on his weary bed 
He lays him down to rest. 
But strives in vain to sleep ; 
For ever on his eyes, 



Mt Dream of Death. 199 

Such blessed visions rise, 
Of softest, blended hues. 
Tints from the rainbow's arch. 
And from the sunset cloud. 
Painted in fairest shapes, 
Melting, and soft, and bright ; 
Beauty, he may not fix 
Upon the canvas white. 

Uncrushed beneath my feet. 
Flowers of the brightest gold, 
Sprmkled with purple dyes, 
A yielding carpet made ; 
Such flowers bloom not on Earth, 
They seemed but golden light, 
Shaped into fairest forms. 
To pave the blissful way ; 
And there were shining Ones 
Moving amid the bowers. 
Girdled with snow-white clouds, 
Winged from the sunset's hues. 
And crowned with starry gems : 



200 My Deeam op Death. 

Aiid, on the fragrant air, 
Dewy with rosy clouds, 
Anon their voices rose. 
Blending with sound of harps 
Attuned to songs of praise ; 
Or moved around the Throne, 
Which in the centre rose, 
Enwrapt in dazzling light, 
YTTiereon I might not gaze ! 

As thus surprised I stood, 
"With a bewildered glance, 
Gazing on all I saw, 
I turned me to my guide ; 
*' This surely is not Earth," — 
With trembling voice I said ; — 
" For ne'er such blissful sight 
Bursts on a mortal's eye." 

" No ! Earth is not hke this," 
In mournful tone he sighed ; 
Nor can this be thy place, 



My Deeam op Death, 201 

Uutil I set thee free ; 
But I will leave thee here, 
To rest m peace awhile, 
With some who lately came, 
Guided alone by me, 
Unto this place of bliss." 

While Death's white angel spoke. 
There came three shuiing Ones 
From out that angel band ; 
And thus the foremost spake : 
" Oh Death ! and is it Thou ? 
Yet, wherefore art thou here, 
Angel of sDent Death I 
Here ! where there's naught to die ? 
And whom hast thou in charge. 
Oh ! friend of mortal Hfe ?" 

Then, mournful. Death replied : 
" No, this is not my place ; 
But now I come to brinor 
One, who must dwell awhile — 



202 My Deeam of Death. 

Yet not forever — here : 
Weary of earthly life, 
I give her grateful rest ; 
Then take her back to Earth ; 
Teach her to humbly Hve 
All her ' aj^pointed time ;' — 
ISTor rashly call on me, 
!N"or shrink from my approach 
Farewell ! I go to Earth 
To keep my station there," 
He ceased, and faded quick 
Beyond my wand'ring sight. 

"Weak with delicious fear, 
I sunk upon the flowers ; 
And those bright Angel Ones 
Bent gently o'er me there. 
And thus the First began. 
While, from his starry cro^vn, 
Rich rays hke sunUght fell : 
" Oh highly favored One — 
To come before thy time. 



My Dkeam of Death. 203 

To tills bright place of bliss : 
Weary thou art of Earth, 
And well — well mayst thou be ; 
For it is sad mth grief, 
And daik with clouds of sin; 
Once did I know its cares ; 
And heavily they pressed 
Upon my sinking soul." 

" What ! art thou then of Earth ? 
And hast thou known its griefs ? 
Tell of thy sojourn there, 
Within that dreary world, 
Fan- angel One," — ^I cried ! 
" Yes, once I lived on Earth, 
Dwelt with the sons of men ; 
And I will tell the tale 
Of what befel me there ; 
For it is ever sAveet 
To tell of things gone by, — 
Sad thinofs which are no more." 



Paet Second. 

" Sweet was my home below, 
Fair as the Earth can give. 
A cottage, small and white, 
Shaded by hoary trees, 
Which spread their giant arms 
Far o'er the lowly roof. 
Behind, there was a wood. 
Where scented blossoms grew 
Faint with their own sweet breath, 
Pale in the forest-shade ; 
And by that pleasant home. 
There rolled a shining stream, 
Deep'ning and wid'ning still, 
Until a river broad 



My Dkeam of Death. 205 

Rolled on its nmrm'rmg waves ; 
And on its banks there grew 
Timid and smiling flowers, 
Whicli well I loved to pluck, 
When Spring-time gave their buds ; 
And 'round that landscape's edge, 
Closed purple swelling hills. 
From which the Sunrise broke, 
Shedding her lustre there, — 
To which the Sun sunk down, 
When Night ht up the Moon, 
And called her silver Stars. 

" But dearer far, than all, 
To my untiammeled heart. 
Those loved and loving ones 
Beneath that lowly roof; 
A gentle mother there 
Watched o'er my infant steps ; 
A father, good and kind. 
Blessed with his noble love ; 
And fairy sisters, too, 



206 3Iy Deeam of Death. 

Joined in my childish play — 

Roaming through stately wood, 

Or over swelling hills ; 

Or, as the twilight came, 

Gathered with ready feet, 

Around our mother's knee, 

And listened to her voice, 

As, with a trembling lip, 

She told how ' God's own Son' 

Left all the bliss above. 

And sought the Earth to die — • 

To die, that Man might live ; 

And then, in sadder voice. 

She spoke of other climes, 

Where men bowed down to stones. 

And worshiped blocks of wood ; 

"Where no kind voice was raised 

To teach the way of peace. 

" Oh ! then my young heart burned 

To go beyond the sea, 

And guide their erring hearts, 



My Dream of Death. 207 

With gentle words, to God; 
To point the eye of Faith 
To brighter, better worlds ; 
To joys beyond the sky — ■ 
Beyond the vale of Death. 

" And when to manhood grown, 

My thoughts were still of them ; 

And still my spirit yearned 

To speak to them of God, — ■ 

To cheer that land of gloom, 

"With words of brightest hope ; 

And I resolved to go, 

To leave my pleasant home, 

And bid a sad farewell, 

To friends who stayed behind. 

" And then I left that spot, 
With sad and tearful eye ; 
But with a kindling faith 
Which whispered words of cheer, 
Sweet to my sinking soul ; 



208 My Dream of Death. 

Then, in the white-^vinged ship, 
I took the wat'ry way 
With one, whose gentle heart 
Was sweetly linked to mine ; 
Who, for unguided souls, 
Had given up her life. 

" Soon to that distant shore — 

The flowery eastern land, 

For which we left our homes — 

With cheerful hearts, we came 

To teach the way of love 

To those, whose souls were dark ; 

That they might hear and live, 

Kejoicing in their God. 

" Sad, for awhile, we were, 
Thinking of absent friends, 
Whose homes far distant lay. 
Divided from our own 
By Ocean's foaming waves ; 
But yet, not long to grief 



My Dkeam of Death. 209 

We gave our earnest hearts ; 
But, with the voice of Love, 
"We spoke to dying souls. 

" Not long I labored there, 
Ere, on my burning cheek, 
Death's roses brightly glowed 
To deck me for the tomb ; 
And as my steps grew faint, 
And weaker, day by day, 
I knew that I must seek 
A brighter, better world. 

" Fain would my heart have staid 

And beat on Earth awhile ; 

That I might speak still more 

To those benighted Ones, 

Whom I went forth to serve*; 

And fain would I have staid 

That lonely one beside. 

Whose gentle words and kind, 

Had oft my spirit soothed ; 
14 



210 My Deeam of Death. 

Who oft had cheered my soul 

With words of sweetest hope, 

When, weary of the toil. 

My murm'ring heart had sighed, 

And dared to breathe complaint. 

Oh, I was sad to leave 

One whom I loved so well ! 

But yet, my spirit bowed 

And said — ' God's will be done !' 

And soon Death sought my form 

And boldly called it his : 

I lay upon my couch. 

Waiting for his approach. 

Friends were aroimd me there ; 

And there, too, knelt my wife, 

Gazing with speechless woe, 

Upon my dying face. 

* Oh, thou wilt leave me now,' 

She said with mournful voice, — 

' Leave me, and darkly rest 

Within thy silent grave ! 

Oh, who shall soothe my grief 



My Dkeam of Death « 211 

When I am all alone ; 
When thou shalt have no voice 
To speak the words of hope ; 
When thy warm heart is still, 
And beats no more with love — 
"No more with holy Faith !' 

" Then, with a breakmg heart, 
But calmly, I replied : 
' Where now, — O, gentle wife, — 
Is that high soul of thine, 
Which bade thee leave thy home, 
And brave the foamy sea 
With all its angry winds, 
And its black tempest clouds. 
And come to this strange land, 
Far from thy childhood's home ? 
Will not thy Savior's love 
Still cheer thy sinking soul ? 
Oh, canst thou say, ' alone,' 
When He, who bade thee come 
And toil awhile for him, 



212 My Deeam of Death. 

Is ever in thy heart ? 

Oh ! we shall meet, my love, 

Where pain is not, nor death ! 

Oh, keep this hope m view ! 

And when thy faintmg faith 

Looks toward the sky through tears, 

&10W that I wait for thee.' 

" My voice grew weak : I ceased 
They brought my smiling babe 
"Wliich could not speak my name, 
That I might gaze once more 
Upon its snowy brow. 
I pressed my clayey lips 
Upon its dimpled cheek, 
And laid my dying hand 
In hers, whose marble face 
Was icy cold — like mine : 
I feebly pressed that hand, 
And then I fell asleep. 
My soul a moment stayed 
To hear the sobs of grief, 



My DEEAir of Death. 213 

To see the mourner's tears ; 
Then wmg'd its way on high, 
To dwell, in blissful life. 
In realms more richly bright, 
Than e'er my soul had dreamed, 
E'en in her Vvildest flights. 

" Such was my Spirit's course. 

As through the world it passed ; 

And oft I whig my way 

Down to the lonely Earth, 

To cheer the gentle One 

Whose head was bowed with grief, — 

Whose heart was well nigh broke. 

And when I'm at her side, 

I whisper words of cheer ; 

Bidding her toil-worn heart 

Rise, with the hope of peace ; 

But, though unseen by her. 

My words her spirit soothe, 

Giving her cheerful strength 

To labor till the end, 

In meek, expectant hope. 



214 My Dkeam of Death. 

*' And dost thou think m vaui 
My life, so short below ? 
Ah, no ! though I was weak, 
My Savior gaA^e me help 
To wm some souls on earth, 
To place, before the throne. 
An off'ring to my God ; 
And on this starry crown, 
Which blazes on my brow, 
Thou canst their number read." 



The bright crowned angel ceased ; 
Then, slowly turned away, 
And joined the shming throng, 
With sweetest h^Tuns of praise ; 
But ere he left me, thus, 
He spake, in gentle tone : 
" I leave thee for awhile, 
To these beside thee now ; 
And they, with kindly words. 
Will make thy heart at ease." 



My Deeam of Death. 215 

He went ; and then I tm-ned 
Unto those other forms : 
Different they were from his. 
The first, was cahnly bright ; 
And in her eyes there shone 
A mild and gentle beam, 
Which seemed as if some grief, 
Perchance, had once been there ; 
Which, conquered long ago, 
Had left the rising soul 
More lofty than before. 
To this fair form I turned : 
" Art thou of Earth ?" I asked ; 
" Has thy pure spirit passed 
Through cares and troubles there ? 
Ah, strange — ^liow strange it seems, 
That, in that heartless world, 
Dwell those whose lofty souls 
From every stain are free ; 
And who may reach at last 
This pure and blessed place! 
But Ah ! what mournful lot, 



216 My Deeam of Death. 

Could thine have been on Earth ? 
Mournful it must have been ; 
For tears, in that cold world, 
Have ever fallen fast ; 
And risen in gloomy clouds, 
To drop in showers again. 
Each wears some nestled grief 
Close at his bleeding heart, 
To draw his life away. 
Some grief, some tears were thine ; 
Then tell the movu-nfiil tale 
Of all thy blighted hopes — 
Perchance, thy life-long woe." 



P AET T HIKD. 

The angel gently said : 

" True, there are tears on Earth ; 

But when the lofty soul 

Spurns all its petty cares, 

And turns, in faith, to God, 

There is a shining Star — 

A Hght of inward peace, 

Which melts the heart's deep woe, 

And seems more fair and bright. 

Because of gloom around. 

Through which its steady ray 

Pierces, with grateful beams ; 

And hearts there are, on Earth — 

Though strange it seems to thee — 

Which bear their spirit's woe 



218 My Dream of Death. 

With fortitude and ease ; 
Nor sink beneath its weight ; 
Xor murmur at the load. 

" But thou dost ask to know 
Wliat fears, what mournful woe, 
Distm'bed my peace on Earth. 
I cannot tell of much ; 
For humble there my lot, 
And calm, as Earth can be. 
I knew no sudden woe, 
To bum, or tear my heart, 
Leavinor its naked nerves 
Bleeding and quiv'ring still, — 
While every slighter blow 
Might sting to maddened pain, 
Or crush to pulseless rest ; 
But slowly blighting woe- 
Tears falling drop by drop, 
Can bleed away the life ; 
And, with its tight'ning coil. 
Grown stronger day by day. 



My Deeam of Death. 219 

Stifle the writhing heart 

In closely wreathed embrace. 



" Such was my living grief: 

Xot for myself alone ; 

But for a cherished child, 

Which sported at my knee, 

When but a rosy babe ; 

Who grew, before my eyes, 

More lovely day by day ; 

Until the cords of love, 

Which bound her to my heart, 

Grew stronger, far, than death. 

Fair was my gentle girl ; 

Lovely as Summer flower, 

Which hides its timid heart, 

Until the fervid sun 

Bursts through the shielding leaves. 

To drink the sweets, awhile 

Then wither up its bloom, 

And leave it to decay. 



220 My Dkeam of Death. 

" So timidly she bloomed 
In shy, and girlish grace ; 
Her young heart, warm and pure, 
Bounding with hope and joy. 
Oh ! childhood days on earth, 
Where almost all is sad. 
Seem like a breath from bliss, 
Sent down to fill the sails. 
And waft the shrinking bark 
Along the sea of Life ; 
That, when dark storms arise, 
And black seas foam with rage, 
And bellow 'round the bark, 
Lifting the crested wave 
To sink it in the deep. 
The mind may turn its eye 
Back to the peaceful time, 
When that light, playing breeze 
Filled up the whitening sails ; 
And Ocean's azure hand 
Lifted the tiny waves, 
And bore it brightly on. 



My Dee am of Death. 221 

" Such was my Flora's life : 
Her childhood passed away, 
Like sunlight on the flowers ; 
And when her sparkling eye 
Grew thoughtful with her years, 
And childish mirth was gone. 
Her heart was full of joy ; 
And when she gave that heart, 
Pure as the morning dew — 
Gave it, with woman's faith. 
To one who sought its love, 
All seemed so glad and bright, 
I could not think of grief; 
But still, with jealous eye 
I watched her kindling love ; 
And when I saw her brow 
Bound with the bridal wreath, 
I wept to lose my child ! 
And when she left her home, 
I missed her merry voice ; 
That home, where she had dwelt. 
In her young, fairy youth. 



222 My DtvEAm of Death. 

Was filled with silent gloom, 
Because she was not there. 



" A year had passed away ; 
When, in her tender arms, 
A dimpled babe was pressed ; 
And when she smiled with joy 
Upon jier rosy child. 
She saw no grief beyond ; 
And though her maiden choice 
Seemed colder, than before, — 
Than when he sought her hand 
In their first dream of love, — 
She deemed, that still, his heart 
Beat warm and true to hers. 

" But soon strange things were said 

Words full of shame to him ; 

And oft he left her side 

To seek another form ; 

And praised with Flattery's lips, 

Another fairer face ; 



My Dkeam of Death. 223 

For now, he loved no more 
The bride, whom he had won. 
Oh ! he had never loved, 
As that unchanging heart, 
Which now he lightly crushed. 

" But her true woman's soul 
Spurned such a thought of him 
,And still loved firmly on, 
Striving, in every act, 
To please her haughty love. 
By smile and gentle word ; 
Striving to win him back, 
And prove her faith in him ; 
But when the fearful truth 
No longer she denied, 
Still, with a wilder love. 
She lived and sufiered on — 
Wreathing her lips with smiles, 
That he might love her face ; 
When, in her tortured heart, 
The fire of anguish burned. 



224 My Dream of Death. 

" Once, when I plead with her 
To seek for peace again, 
Within her childhood's home, 
She raised her eyes and said : 
* Mother, I cannot go ! 
There is no peace for me, 
Save in the silent tomb ; 
And there I may not rest. 
Oh, would that I might die ! 
My heart is sick with grief. 
Which tears, with serpent fangs, 
Each wild and harassed nerve. 
And coils its loathsome fold 
'Romid ev'ry blasted hope ; 
Yet he, who gives this grief. 
Which makes my life a curse, 
Claims aU my tortured love ; 
And ev'ry wretched beat 
This bleeding heart can give, 
Still, still is true to him. 
Oh ! as I am thy child. 
Entreat me not to go ! 



My Dream of Death. 225 

For I am weary now, — 
Weary of life and hope ! 
And though, with, taunting words, 
He cuts my shrinking heart, 
Still, stni I bless his name !' 

" She ceased, and bowed her head — 
"Weeping — upon her child ! 
Those uncomplaining tears. 
Bitter with broken hopes. 
Fell on the smartmg wound. 
Which tore her broken heart. 
My own heart sunk with woe ; 
Nor could I seek, again. 
To turn her faith from him — 
From hun who caused this grief; 
But yet, I prayed to God 
For vengeance on his head ! 

" Months slowly passed away ; 

Each crushing Flora's heart 

Still nearer to the earth ; 
15 



226 My Dream of Death, 

For time had vexed her grief, 
And tore each ling'ring hope 
From her bowed soul away. 



" Soon she was left alone 
To grieve away her life ; 
But yet, she seemed less sad, 
Than at her husband's side ; 
And sometimes faintly smiled 
Upon her dimpled babe : 
And, when the falling tear 
Coursed down her snowy cheeks, 
'Twas with such patient grief 
Upon her gentle face. 
She looked an angel grieved ; 
But when I spoke of him — 
The faithless, heartless wretch, 
Who gave her up to woe — 
In harsh and angry words, 
"With such a pleading look — 
Reproachful, though so mild, — 
She gazed through tears on me. 



My Deeam of Death. 227 

That soon, I, too, had learned 
To think of him with tears ! — 
To pity and forgive ! 

" But years passed swiftly by ; 
And Flora's only child 
Was now his mother's pride : 
A glad, light-hearted boy, 
Whose taU and graceful form 
Was manly in its mien ; 
But Oh ! not long to her 
Was left this last bright hope ; 
For soon, from her embrace, 
By Death's cold hand, was torn 
The idol of her heart ! 

" One day he laid him down 

Upon a couch of pain, 

Never again to rise : 

She watched, Avith anguished heart, 

Each change of brow and cheek ; 

With sobSj and fearful moans, 



228 My Deeam op Death. 

Waiting to see him die : 
But when the hue of death 
Came slowly o'er his face, 
Her spirit rose in strength, 
To brave the fearful hour. 
Calmly her eyes were fixed 
Upon her dying boy ; 
Calmly she saw her hopes, 
With him, in death depart. 
His eyes unclosed awhile ; 
His white lips moved in words : 
' Mother !' he faintly said, 
' Bring me some budding flowers 
To gaze upon once more ; 
For soon beneath the sod 
My weary head will lie, 
And I would see again 
The pale bright buds of Earth. 
And let the ev'ning breeze. 
Now through my window come, 
Bearing upon its wings 
The dying breath of day; 



My Dream of Death. 229 

For ne'er upon my brow 
'T will gently play again.' 
And, then, he turned his eyes 
To gaze upon the flowers ; 
And smiled to feel the breeze 
Fanning his pallid cheek. 

" Silent, he lay awhile ; 

And then, with whispering voice, 

Dying and faint, he said : 

' Oh, Mother ! sing to me, 

For I am dying now ; 

And let my spirit pass 

Through Heaven's gate of light. 

Upon the breath of song ! 

'T will not be dying then ; 

But sleeping for awhile, 

To wake beyond the sky !' 

" She pressed the gushing tears. 
Back from her weary eyes ; 
And stifled, for awhile, 



230 My Dream of Death. 

Her agony of heart, 
That she might raise her voice 
To sing her child to sleep ! 
Trembling, her voice arose, 
Quiv'ring on every note. 
And mixed with angel songs, 
Which filled the lonely room — 
Although imheard by us. 

" 'T was over ; and that face, 
Icy and marble white. 
Smiled in its silent rest. 
Then, Flora's soul gave way ! 
She called in frenzied tones 
Upon her silent child. 
And thus, in anguish cried : 
' Oh, Idol of my heart ! 
What have I done, my boy. 
That thou shouldst leave me thus I 
Was I not ever kind. 
And was not every wish 
Met by a mother's care ! 



My Dream of Death. 231 

Why didst thou leave me thus ? 

The grave is cold and dark. 

I would have laid thy head 

Upon my mournful breast ; 

And there thou couldst have slept. 

Oh, cruel, cruel death ! 

To take my only joy — 

All that could make life sweet — 

And let me still hve on ! 

" * I cannot weep for thee, 
My dearest, only one ! 
For, on my burning brain, 
There rests a band of fire, 
That dries my scalding tears, 
Ere they can reach my eyes. 
Oh, I have never known 
Such fearful grief till now ; 
To see thee resting there. 
Calmly, and aU unmoved, 
While, from my aching heart, 
The last, last hope has flown ! 



232 My Dream of Death. 

Oh, it is worse — far worse — 
Than I had known before ! 
And I must live, my child, 
Live on, — without thy voice 
To cheer my broken heart ! 
I shall not see thee more ; 
For, in the silent grave, 
Thy form must turn to dust ! 
Oh, canst thou turn to dust ? — • 
With thy white marble brow, 
'Round which thy raven curls, 
Glossy and graceful, rest !' 

" Thus, with a mournful plaint, 
She paced the silent room, 
Tearless and wild with grief; 
But when within the tomb 
She saw the coffin rest. 
Tears fell in gushing showers. 
Laving her hollow cheeks. 
And gave her soul relief; 
And, day by day, those tears 



My Dream of Death. 233 

r ell gently on his grave, 
To wet the budding flowers, 
Which she had planted there. ' 

" And still her patient heart 
Is beating on the earth, 
Calm, 'neath its weight of woe ; 
And, with an eye of Faith, 
She sees her place of rest 
Within her Father's home. 
And 'tis not distant far ; 
For, on her wasted cheek, 
There bui-ns the rose of death- 
Fitful, and sometimes lost ; 
And, in her large dark eye. 
There burns a light from bliss, 
That shines into her heart, 
To light her to the sky. 
And soon her care-worn brow, 
'Round which her dark hair waves, 
Which grief hath streaked with grey, 
^hall rest within the grave ; 



234 My Dkeam or Death. 

And her nntrammeled soul, 
In this abode of bliss, 
Receive its bright reward." 

The angel ceased to speak, 
And smiled a gentle smile ; 
As though those last sweet thoughts- 
Thoughts of that daughter's joy — 
Made Heaven still more bright ; 
Then, with still sweeter voice, 
The angel spake again : 
" Oh ! why canst thou not live, 
"While others bear such woe 
With uncomplaming hearts ? 
What sorrow hast thou known. 
That thou wouldst turn from life, 
And seek for rest so soon ? 
Mortal ! dost thou not know. 
The more thou shalt endure 
With meek and patient mind,. 
The sweeter is thy rest. 
When life is done, at last ? 



My Dream of Death. 235 

The brighter is the smile 
Of thy approving God ?" 

" No crashing grief," I said, 

" Hath weighed my spirit down ; 

Or made me turn from life 

And wish for long repose : 

But Oh ! my heart is sad 

To see the gloomy world 

So full of fearful sin ; 

And I have wished to die — 

To rest within the grave ; 

But, when I gazed on Death, 

And marked his icy form, 

I shrank from his embrace, 

And clung, in fear, to hfe. 

But now I fear no more 

To leave this clay to him — 

To crumble into dust — 

While I shall rise, in joy. 

To happiness on high. 

Oh, how can I return, 



236 My Dream of Death. 

When I have seen such peace, 
And dwell again on Earth, 
So full of guilt and woe !" 



Part Fourth 



The other angel form. 
Which there had silent stood. 
Lifted its harp-Hke voice. 
And answered thus, my words ; 
" True, Earth is full of woe ; 
But, rather thou shouldst live, 
And do whate'er thou canst 
To make the world less dark, 
Less full of sin and woe, 
Than, weary, turn away, — 



My Deeam of Death. 237 

Wishing for peace and rest. 

I, too, once dwelt on Earth, 

And breathed such words as thine. 

Flushed with the thoughts of Fame, 

Ambition was my guide ; 

And, with a burning brow. 

And proud, unshrinking heart, 

On — onward still — I toiled 

To reach the longed for goal. 

Upon a giddy hight 

I thought my footing sure : 

From that proud hight I sunk. 

And felt that naught was left 

To care for on the Earth. 

I traveled far and wide. 

Striving to quite forget 

My disappomted hopes ; 

And learned to hate mankind. 

" Whether I roamed afar. 
Where Southern breezes blow, 
And flowers of richest dyes, 



238 My Deeam of Death, 

Lift up their glowing heads 
Amid the shady bowers, 
And ever fragrant groves, — ■ 
Or, far in Eastern land, 
Where strange, majestic piles 
Speak of the ages gone ; 
Piles which those ages raised 
To mark their place of rest, 
To tell that once they were ; 
As tombstones, o'er a grave, 
Tell that, what now is clay, 
Was once a form of Hfe : 
Still, evrywhere I roamed, 
I saw man's foohsh pride, 
His frailty, and his sin ! 
I saw the child of want 
Begging, in vain, for bread ; 
Wand'ring, with feeble steps. 
The long and weary day ; 
And then, when darkness came. 
Hungry, and faint, and cold, 
Lie down upon the earth 



My Dream of Death. 239 

To rest his weaiy frame, 
Before the rich man's door, 
Unheeded, and unseen. 

" I saw the madd'ning bowl 
Drained by the reehng wretch, 
Who sought the fearful draught, 
Leavmg each friend behmd — 
Each pure and lofty hope — 
To sink in want and shame, 
And worship at its shrine. 

" I saw my brother man 
Sink 'neath the cruel lash. 
Because his hue was dark ; 
And crouch in shrouding dust, 
Nor dare to make complaint : 
His children and his wife, 
Snatched by a ruthless hand, 
And torn from his embrace, — 
Kever to see him more. 
And when the brutal wretcli, 



240 My Deeam of Death. 

Who chained the crouchmg slave, 
Bade sounds of joyous muth 
Rise from his quiv'ring Hps, 
I heard the mirthful song — 
A requiem wild and sad — 
Above his broken hopes. 

" I saw the nations rise, 
And pour each other's blood 
Upon the crimson field. 
Piled with the heaps of slain ; 
Whose dying ears were filled 
With the stern cannon's roar, 
Which bellowed o'er them there, 
In place of friendship's sighs. 
Oh! 'twas a fearful thmg 
To see the shroud of blood 
About the soldier's form, 
Whereon a mother's eye 
Had rested with delight ; 
And that cold, palHd brow, 
Whereon a mother's lip 



My Dream op Death. 241 

Had pressed the kiss of love, 
Stained by the blood-wet locks. 



" I felt not for mankind ; 

My heart recoiled in hate, 

When pity should have moved. 

In gloomy hermit shade, 

I hid me from the world 

To dwell in peace alone ; 

But soon, within my soul 

There rose a gentle thought, 

Which said, in voiceless words, — 

' Oh, is there naught to do 

In this wide world of sin ? 

Canst thou not raise thy hand, 

And stay some little gi'ief ? 

Make some slight joy on earth, 

Instead of pining here. 

Cursing thy brother man 

For crime which he has done, 

And, with a strange contempt, 

Gazing on want and woe ?' 
16 



242 My Dream of Death. 

" I listened to those words ; 
And, with a changing heart, 
I sought mankind again — 
Hearing the cry of woe 
With pity, not contemj^t ; 
And strove to heal the wound, 
Which ruthless grief had made. 
I sought the orphan child, 
To give kuid words of cheer ; 
The widow, lone and sad, 
I tried to give relief: 
Then, to the call of want, 
I turned in pity's mood. 
And gave the ' Words of Life' 
To those who sought for peace. 
Humble, obscure my lot : 
I knew not wealth or pride ; 
But, in my lowly home, 
I dwelt with happy heart. 
And wished not fame on earth. 

*' Thus passed my peaceful Hfe, 
Till Age had marked my brow ; 



My Deeam of Death. 243 

And Time had thinned the hair, 
Which floated round my head 
In white and silver locks. 
Then, in the silent tomb, 
Death laid my mortal frame, 
To moulder into dust ; 
While I arose, in joy. 
Up to this blest abode, 
Forever here to dwell. 
And wouldst thou be, on earth, 
Free from each vexing thought ? 
Go, do thou likewise there !" 

He ceased ; and I replied : 

" Bright one ! thy words are wdse. 

I know, to dry the tear, 

To stop the bursting sigh. 

To comfort those who mourn. 

And shed the light of joy 

Upon the broken heart, 

Will give the spirit peace. 

More than aught else below. 



244 My Dkeam of Death. 

But Oh ! the way is long, 
Beset with deep-laid snares, 
Which vex the weary soul. 
And make it long for rest. 
How shall I pass through Ufe, 
Unblotted by its stain — 
Unblighted by its curse ?'* 

I ceased with mournful sigh ; 
And thus the angel spoke, 
In answer to my words : 
*' Mortal ! dost thou not know 
Angels shall be thy guides ? 
To watch above thy way, 
And keep thy soul from harm ? 

*' Bright angels hear thy words, 
And see thy Spirit's strife. 
In pity, and in love : 
They guard thy tempted path, 
And, though unseen by thee, 
Speak kindly to thy soul. 



3Iy Deeam of Death. 245 

Then, mortal, go to earth, 
Live uncomplaining there, 
Shed joy around thy way. 
From out thy peaceful heart ; 
And thou shalt rest at last, 
Sweetly and undisturbed." 

That sweet tone left my ear, 
And softly died away 
In low and silv'ry notes ; 
I heard a murm'ring sound : 
'T was like a streamlet's voice, 
Which slowly ripples by ; 
The bright and tiny wave 
Complaining to the light. 
'Twas but the mournful breeze 
Whisp'ring to faded earth, 
Of Winter and decay. 

I woke, and gazed around : 

The slowly rising Sun 

Glanced through the frosty pane, 



246 My Dream of Death. 

With pale and softened light. 
Alas ! I had but dreamed ! 
Yet still, upon my soul 
There sat a solenm peace ; 
And Oh, I could but deem 
That angels brooded there, 
Guarding, with shining wings, 
The portals of my heart ! 



length. 



There are Angels in our pathway, 

Angels from the sky above ; 
They have come to us in pity, 

And they guard our hearts m love. 

Sometimes, we can hear them smging, 

Singing holy spirit-airs ; 
And we thus are cheered and strengthened 

To forget life's heavy cares. 

All these bright and holy Angels 
Were our gentle friends on earth, — 

Sharing in our dreary sorrows, 
Mingling with us in our mirth. 



248 Angels. 

Ah ! we mourned with bitter weeping — 

Felt ourselves to be alone, 
When they pressed the cold earth-pillow, 

Underneath the grave-yard stone. 

But they still, with tender voices, 

Warn us of the coming ill. 
Cheer us on to deeds of mercy, 

With their holy music still. 



lis tontrg, ®|, mg tontrj! 



My Country, Oh, my Country ! 

I love thy towering hills, 
Thy richly waving forests. 

Laced by a thousand rills. 

I love to hear the story. 
Of all thy noble strife ; 

The battles of our fathers. 
For liberty and life. 

But Oh, my peerless country, 
A stain upon thy brow, 

A bloodspot on thy banner, 
Grows darker, even now I 



250 My Country, Oh, my Country! 
My Country, Oh, my Country ! 

Have I not wept for thee ? 
That stam of blood and darkness 
Upon thy brow to see ? 

And when thy youthful greatness 
Would swell my heart with pride, 

I think of Afric's children. 
And of that crimson tide, 

Which, from their stripes, is flowing, 
A swiftly gathering flood. 

Wherein to dip thy banner ; 
Yea, dip it now in blood, 

And let it wave above us, 
All wet with human gore ; 

For we can see, Columbia, 
Thy shinmg stars no more I 



645 



Deacxeied using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neidraizing Agent Magnesium Oxide 



glRBflBKKEEPER 



i 



